Blackmailed Bride
by trapt2504
Summary: In a dark and isolated mansion he made her an outrageous offer...
1. Cast

_**Cast of Characters**_

_**Dr. Tommy Quincy-**_ With time running out, he had to convince a beautiful stranger to play his wife for two weeks. Yet how would his "marriage" go once she was by his side...?

_**Ms. Jude Harrison-**_ She was playing the role of a lifetime. What price was she willing to pay to get what she wanted?

_**Alana Quincy-**_ The faithless socialite was missing. Was it by choice? Or was it murder?

_**Mr. Jamie Anderson-**_ Did the family lawyer and trust fund's trustee have a motive of his own to see Alana dead?

_**Darius Mills-**_ Alana's cousin. Greed was always a good motive for murder.

_**Vincent Speiderman-**_ Tommy's trusted assistant knew everything that went on between the thick monastery walls.

_**Maria Harrison-**_ Would Jude's grandmother appreciate the sacrifice her granddaughter made for her sake?

_**Karma Speiderman-**_ The local seamstress was happy to oblige Tommy's every request.

_**Bertha Lane-**_ There was no love lost between Speid's grandmother and the mistress of the monastery.

_**Detective Kwest Taylor-**_ The private eye was a bulldog when it came to tracking down a clue. Tommy had paid his salary, but no man could buy the truth from him.


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

A paper-thin moon hung in the ink-blue sky, mutating grotesque shadows behind the three crosses in the courtyard of the Ste-Croix monastery in rural New Hampshire. But Alana Quincy didn't care. The creepy place with it's eerie shadows and haunting chant-like winds had ceased to frighten her a long time ago. Now, it merely bored her.

At thirty, she'd wasted almost half her life in this godforsaken place. As she hurried over the courtyard's cobblestones, she smiled, ignoring the ominous whispers of fall leaves from the nearby woods. Soon she'd be free. She threw her head back and laughed, defying the morbid sounds of night. She'd waited a long time for this freedom– a freedom she'd earned with her duty; a freedom which would now be greatly enhanced by her coming inheritance. She'd have plenty of time to make up for all the deprivation she'd endured over the last thirteen years.

As she opened the garage door, it creaked. For now, she'd settle for simple pleasures of the flesh. Her latest conquest was strong and virile, and Alana licked her lips in anticipation of the steamy passion they'd share. She hopped into her red Miata and roared into the black night.

Too bad that husband of hers had found the papers and ruined his Christmas surprise. He'd been amiable enough about the whole situation, with her conditions. But with him, who knew?

Their love had died a long time ago, hadn't it? Had they ever truly been in love? She'd been to young. Her dreams hadn't had a chance to form yet. She'd realized too late the price she'd paid for her father's approval. And he'd made sure with his manipulations of her trust fund that she couldn't undo the damage until too late. All this sacrifice and for what? A miracle cure that would never happen; a marriage that was doomed to fail before it began.

And the differences in their backgrounds, the five-year difference in their ages so exciting at first, had soon grown into rifts, then chasms. The fool, he'd turned such a brilliant future into nothing with his misguided vision and his righteous anger. An anger that had grown over the years, and sometimes managed to frighten even her.

But not tonight. Tonight was her weekly escape from tyranny, and she was determined to make the most of it.

The car rattled over the loose boards of the cold covered bridge, echoing like thunder into the oppressive night. Alana hid the Miata in the thicket of pines and slipped into the one-room cottage.

She sensed movement from the bed. "You're here already. Why didn't you light the lamp?"

She lit the lamp, blew out the match and turned to her new friend. A black-robed monk stepped forward from the shadows, his face hidden by his hood, his hands buried in opposite sleeves. She smiled when she saw the way the robe strained over broad shoulders, the way the thick cord at his waist defined his trim hips.

"Ah, so you like to play games, do you?" Alana laughed. She unbuttoned her coat and flung it on the bed. She started toward him, shedding her scarf, then her sweater. "Shall I play your sacrificial virgin?"

The monks hood fell back. Malevolence burned in his eyes. Laughter froze in her throat. Her fingers went rigid against the zipper of her pants. His hands came into the light. A rope snapped between them. Fear paralyzed her limbs, her voice, her breath.

The rush of adrenaline came too late.


	3. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Jude Harrison glanced around the living room of the monastery turned mansion, looking for her treasure with, she hoped, what passed for cool composure. Her heart fluttered with excitement, but she forced herself to present her usual calm professional appearance. People expected that from her; she'd built her reputation as a top-notch antiques dealer with her fairness and levelheadedness.

Where was the sculpture? What if– But no, she wouldn't even entertain such a thought. The auction brochure had clearly printed the description, and the picture had left no doubt.

The Aidan Heart was here...somewhere.

Jude removed her wool hat and gloves and dropped them on one of the folding chairs. A storm had brewed outside. Strong winds pummeled the ancient stone structure– one of three buildings on the grounds. The promised weather hadn't kept people away from the auction. Jude didn't blame them. Nothing could have kept her away today.

She'd raced the dark, billowy clouds all the way from Nashua to the small village of Ste-Croix on the western edge of the White Mountains, and the old Ste-Croix monastery. Slate skies had met white snow with nothing in between to give the illusion of depth except somber evergreens and the gray branches of winter-bared maples and beeches. Taking a wrong turn along the twisty country road, she'd almost ended up in the treacherous depths of the Ste-Croix River which fed eventually into Lake Winnipesaukee. But she'd made it.

And ten years of searching for the Aidan Heart would end today.

Inside the gray stone main house, people walked about, creating a soft buzz with their chatter. Curiosity seekers of composition? The cordial fire glowing in the hearth mellowed the wind's strong bite, but couldn't quite keep the chill out of the air. Jude scanned the room once more. The fact the walls' only adornment was a series of paintings portraying the austere monks of the Order of the Holy Cross in black-hooded habits didn't help. It almost seemed as if the monks followed her every move, especially the one over the fireplace whose eyes glowed red in the firelight's trail.

What kind of person would choose to live in such a bleak environment? An involuntary shiver slid down her spine. As she crossed the room, she recognized several rival dealers and nodded a greeting. Noticing a side room from which people emerged, and guessing the auction goods' location, she headed in its direction.

On a series of tables a collection of high-quality antiques crowded the small adjoining room. Jude looked at the rich offerings, feigning interest while her heart beat strong with anticipation of finding the Aidan Heart. She spotted a lamp and several glass bowls she could easily place with her clients, but knew she wouldn't bid on them.

She'd come to Ste-Croix for one thing and one thing only–the glass sculpture her great-great-grandfather had fashioned for his bride almost a hundred years ago. A gift of love tragically lost when Aidan and Diane Harrison had left Ireland for the United States.

Now she held the precious gift in her sight.

As she approached the twelve-inch sculpture, Jude held her breath. Though shaped like the paperweights popular in the late 1800's, the similarity ended there. Rather than tool the glass into shape, the artist had hand-blown it so the glass folded over itself, forming hanging layers of translucence from light pink to dark purple to pure transparent, with a three-dimensional heart suspended, as if by magic, in its center. The whole thing rested on a flat square base. It was perfect. More beautiful than she'd imagined.

The glass spoke to her, flooding her with sensations of the past, of love, acceptance, happiness. She breathed deeply to damp down the tears of joy threatening to fragment her careful composure with discreet awe and a trembling finger, Jude reached out to touch the object of her intense search.

The glass felt warm beneath her finger. She picked it up, feeling its solid weight in her hands for the first time. Turning it over carefully, she inspected every facet. Not a chip, not a scratch in sight. The room grew unbearably warm around her, making the glass pulsate with heat, coating her hands with sweat. Even the walls seemed to shimmer in a fever like hallucination.

With a deep reluctance, she set the sculpture down on the table once more and turned back to the main room. Maybe the imminent storm would keep most of her competition away. Few people realized the value of the piece, but perhaps some would be drawn into the bidding by its simple yet elegant charm.

No use worrying. She'd get the Aidan Heart even if she had to sell her soul for it.

By bringing the sculpture back to its rightful owner, she hoped to give a final glimpse of magic to her dying grandmother. Gram had done so much for her. Her summer's at Gram's house had brought a measure of peace to her chaotic childhood, the stories of Aidan and Diane's love, the magic of belonging. And with the sculpture she'd brighten her grandmother's last days, see the light of recognition shine one more time in her eyes. She owed her at least that much.

Two elderly ladies shuffling through the door blocked her exit from the room. Jude stepped aside to let them pass.

"Do you suppose he'll show up?" asked the one leaning on a cane.

"Who?" asked the one whose purple feather on her hat bobbed in a continuous rhythm.

"Tom Quincy. Who else?"

Tom Quincy. Why did the name seem so familiar? Where had she heard it before?

Purple Feather cocked a hand on her hip. "Bertha, you've no intentions of buying anything do you? You dragged me out in this weather just to add fire to your gossip fuel. I've a good mind to drag you right back home."

"You'll do no such thing!" Bertha pretended indignation, then leaned closer to her companion's ear. "My Vincent says he's been impossible to work for since his wife disappeared, that he's lost his edge. Hasn't been able to do anything. The research; its stopped. Vincent says the man spends most of his days pacing. And you know how it is... Well, I had to see for myself."

Purple Feather's eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "Your grandson is as bad a gossip as you are."

Bertha picked up a trinket from the nearby table and replaced it barely a look. "Vincent says that's why he's having the auction. Vincent says he desperately needs cash for his research. Think of how it would affect the village if he left."

"Someone else would come. Someone always does." Purple Feather tried to pull Bertha along.

"Yes, but at what price to us? Remember what happened when the family lost the monastery after Jeremy Quincy died? The village almost disappeared."

"Come on." The hat's purple feather dipped wildly as the woman forcibly pulled her companion along.

"The auction's about to begin. Let's go take our seats."

Jude followed the old ladies out the door. Bertha stopped abruptly, and Jude nearly crashed into her.

"There he is," Bertha whispered to her companion.

"Oh my, he doesn't look good at all, does he? I wonder if he'll cancel the Christmas fete this year. What a disappointment that would be for everyone. But who could blame him with all this tragedy hanging over his head?"

Despite herself, Jude couldn't help following the old lady's gaze to the tall man standing in the corner. He leaned his long, athletic frame against the wall, studying the room with undisguised contempt. His dark hair looked as if it had recently been raked by fingers. Deep-set eyes the color of squally clouds hid beneath low eyebrows, giving him an appearance as frosty as the winter storm announcing itself outside. Prominent cheekbones and a square jaw negated the promise of sensuality offered by his full mouth.

Not a man to tangle with, yet Jude found herself drawn to the sheer power of his presence. Even when he tried to melt into the shadows, he filled the room.

Their gazes met and held for longer than was comfortable. The intensity of his gray eyes traveled all the way to her soul, and buffeted her with feelings she didn't dare name. She put down the exciting sensation thrilling through her to the prospect of owning the Aidan Heart, not to the brooding man who stood in the corner.

Unexpectedly, the protection of her coat felt like candy glass, thin and transparent. She tightened it around her despite the insufferable warmth tingling her body. An echo of something she couldn't quite put her finger on pinged deep inside.

The illusion of warmth faded from his eyes. When she realized his stare had hardened into hate, she shivered and turned away.

Why? She made her way back to her chair. What did I do? She removed her coat and self-consciously smoothed the skirt of her burgundy wool-blend shirtdress, then picked up her brochure.

Tom Quincy. Where had she heard the name? She read the brochure's cover and found the auction sponsored by the Monastery Company. She searched through the catalog of her mind, but came up empty. She'd never met the man–would have remembered if she had. Power that potent wasn't easily forgotten.

She shrugged. It didn't matter. She hadn't driven all this way to solve the mystery behind the pained look in Mr. Tom Quincy's eyes.

Suddenly, the front door blew open. Wind whipped through the opening. It whistled and snarled down the makeshift aisle, snapping the folding chairs in the back row to the ground with its unexpected ferocity. The audience turned in one movement.

"Do you suppose it's her?" Bertha whispered to her companion.

"Who? The monks' virgin sacrifice?" Purple Feather scoffed.

"Her. You know, his wife. The one who disappeared last month. I"ve heard people say they've seen her ghost about the place. Some even say he killed her himself in a fit of rage."

Purple Feather jabbed Bertha in the ribs with her elbow. "There you go again, gossiping. No one's sure she's even dead. You should know by now people love to exaggerate everything because nothing ever happens here. The monks' legend is just that–a legend."

"Well, there's always a grain of truth in every story. The monks do have a bloody history."

"It's just a myth!"

A heavy thump boomed and resounded down the corridor as a young man dressed in a suit too formal for the occasion closed the door, straightened the downed chairs, then took a seat in the back row.

The auctioneer banged his hammer and got the sale under way. He proceeded at a fast pace, for which Jude was thankful. Turning her gaze to the corner of the room, she found Tommy Quincy's icy stare on her once more. The faster she got her prize, the sooner she could escape and leave behind the uncomfortable feeling settling in her gut.

"Now we have item number one hundred and thirteen. A piece of experimental Irish glass circa 1900 from the Summers Glasshouse. The artist is unknown, but the piece is often referred to as the Aidan Heart. Who will give me..."

She knew the market value, but she also knew she wanted the piece no matter what it cost. And that put her at a disadvantage. Would puffers, seeking to inflate prices, prey on her vulnerability? Would the auctioneer call phantom bids when he sensed the intensity of her desire? She'd bid tentatively at first to feel out the opposition. If she simulated a lack of interest, she might get the piece for below its market value.

Jude waited patiently, breath held, while someone signaled to cut the opening bid in half.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer continued, "this is the finest example of Irish glass I've seen in a long time..."

The bidding went fast and furious. As the price of the piece rose to its market value, Jude tightened her hold on her bidding card and tried to remain calm.

"This is no money for such a fine example of Irish glass..."

Beads of moisture formed along her hairline. Jude put up her card.

"Remember, this is an original, ladies and gentlemen. You would pay more than this for a reproduction. Who will give me..."

The bidding was too high. Jude's armpits prickled with sweat. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles. As she calculated her options, her mind whirled.

I want it.

I need it.

No amount of cool reasoning could counter the irrational demand of her yearning.

She had to have it.

She put up her card.

"This should be a part of any serious glass collection..."

One card went up. Then another. She'd never dreamed the price would go so high. Oh God, she was going to lose the Aidan Heart after searching for it for ten years. She couldn't let it go.

Licking her dry lips, she flung up her card, not sure how she'd manage to pay.

Tommy interrupted the auctioneer. A frantic whispered discussion passed between them, and Tommy, nodding once to someone in the back, left through the back door.

What's going on? Why had they stopped? Dreadful premonitions swamped through her. No, they couldn't stop. It wasn't legal. She was so close. Her rapid pulse hammered her brain. Her hands unconsciously tightened around the bidding card, scrunching the flimsy cardboard.

The auctioneer cleared his throat and resumed his pitch. "Ladies and gentlemen..."

From the back of the room came a bid. A bid so ridiculous it took an instant to register into her brain.

"What!" Jude jumped to her feet amid agitated whispers. She whirled, knocking her chair to the ground. "You can't do that!"

The polished young man who'd closed the front door smiled at her, tilting his head sideways and lifting his eyebrows and shoulders in mock regret. Not a single hair fell out of place. Not a single crease marred his expensive suit. Not a wrinkle worried his handsome features.

"Vincent" Bertha scrunched her eyes and peered at the young man. "Is that you?"

"Any further advances?" The auctioneer asked. He looked around the room. "Going once! Twice! Last time!" He brought his hammer down. The sound of finality exploded in Jude's mind. "Sold to number one for..."

She'd lost.

Jude couldn't believe it. After all this time, it couldn't be true. Her heart banged painfully against her ribs. As her vision narrowed, the whole room swirled into a vortex, twisting everything into rushing black specters speeding toward her. The roar in her ear thundered over her thoughts, dousing them in a quagmire of thick, dark slime. Her limbs shook, ice-cold, numb. She couldn't find air. She pulled in a harsh gulp. The air vanished before it found her lungs.

"Are you alright?" A strange voice pierced the dark abyss spinning all around her, releasing her.

"I'm fine." She devoured the air in great mouthfuls. "I"m fine."

Someone righted her chair and helped her into it. When she realized who stood above her, she trapped the young man's hands in hers.

"I want to buy the Aidan Heart from you."

"Sorry." He smiled apologetically and a contrite expression glimmered from his warm bright blue eyes. "I'm just the buyer's agent."

"Who's the buyer?"

He nodded toward the back door behind the auctioneer. "Him."

The dark and mysterious Tom Quincy.

Dizzy, she reached for her hat and gloves, knocking them to the floor. Bending down to retrieve them, her head cleared, returning the room to its original shape. She sat on the edge of the hard chair and closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up and find this had all been a terrible nightmare.

"Now we have item one hundred and fourteen..."

The auction resumed.

Pain ripped through her heart until it seemed as if blood dripped form her chest. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Light-headed, she wavered once as she rose.

She had to think. She couldn't give up. She'd find the buyer and make him understand he couldn't have the Aidan Heart. Searching the back of the room, she couldn't find him. The man seemed to have disappeared. Shakily, she made her way to the entry hall and gripped the auction room's doorjamb, drawing strength from its solid form.

"Is T.J. in?" A voice carried like a wave from further down the corridor. Jude caught a glimpse of the receding figure of a man bundled in a heavy black overcoat, and a gray scarf.

"Dr. Quincy was not expecting you today."

Dr. T.J. Quincy!

Now she remembered where she'd heard the name Tom Quincy. He was the brilliant researcher who'd made waves last year when he'd denounced his sponsoring company's intentions as fraudulent and ended their association.

What did he need the Aidan Heart for? What could he possibly want with her piece of glass? Her breaths quickened. Her free fist clenched by her side. She stowed the helplessness away in a deep corner, and let anger swell and crest, needing desperately to latch on to something other than the pain mauling her heart.

If Tom Quincy thought she was going home empty-handed today, he had no idea who he was dealing with.

**A/N– Thank You to everyone who read my last story "The Stranger Next Door". I loved everyone's reviews, and I hope to get many more for this story. So here's a new story, with a different twist. I hope everyone enjoys this one.**


	4. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tommy had expected Jamie Andrews to show up, just not this soon. He turned swiftly into the small room adjoining the living room, plucked the registration card for bidder 168 from the Secretary's desk and strode through to the door at the opposite end.

The rumors, of course. Alana had threatened to leak the less than idyllic state of their marriage to knowing ears, but she'd been drunk when he'd found her sprawled with the papers–drunk and vindictive. She'd vowed he'd suffer for the isolation she'd been forced to endure. The deal she'd outlined had shades of Satan all over it. He'd wanted to strangle her. In the end, he'd accepted. A little humiliation was nothing compared to the good his research could yield. Had she whispered her secrets out of spite to her cousin Darius, realizing he'd have a keen interest in the outcome?

Tommy ripped open the door in his path.

"Tommy!" He nearly bumped into Vincent Speiderman, his assistant, who carefully cradled the Aidan Heart in both his hands. "What do you want me to do with this?"

He handed Speid the key. "Put it in the cellar with the rest of the paperweights. In the safe."

Without waiting for a response. Tommy forged ahead in the corridor, and let the door slam behind him. His butler and the calling man weren't far behind, but he'd reach the library before they did.

Ah, Alana! She'd kept at him and kept at him with her barbs and her threats–until he'd exploded. Now she was missing. Had been for four and a half weeks. And it wasn't like her to leave without a scene. Something wasn't right, but the investigator he'd hired had uncovered nothing. It was as if she'd vanished.

Purposefully or not, she'd conveniently left him with a suspicious lawyer to appease and no devoted wife to prove his wedded bliss. He didn't like being backed into a corner. And he surely didn't like the thoughts poisoning his mind–thoughts he wouldn't normally entertain. But images of the woman sitting at the auction floated back to him.

She could help him.

He turned a corner, feeling as if the walls of the home he loved so much were closing in on him, and pushed open the library door.

She'd had a glow about her that had caught his attention. He'd admired her catlike grace and the self-assurance with which she moved. His attraction to her had been immediate and powerful. A fact Tommy found both intriguing and disconcerting. History repeating itself? How long had it been since he'd allowed a pretty face to turn his head? And what price had he paid?

He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Tommy blazed on a light and marched to the fireplace. He threw a log in and watched the sparks fly up like angry bees disturbed from their nest. He'd found her glowing face refreshing after the blase' cynicism he'd grown used to. Her luxuriant blond hair had him thinking of sex, hot and wild. The way the glossy strands caught the fire's light and reflected gold, he'd wanted to reach out and bury his hand in her hair to harvest the sheer life it exuded. He shook his head to dispel her image. He had to stay in control.

He banged a fist against the mantel, punctuating his determination. But she came back, her image haunting him in the erratic dance of flames in a way he didn't like.

Massaging the back of his neck with both hands, he saw her eyes again. They were the most beautiful he'd ever seen–light blue that shifted to almost sapphire. Yes, she vibrated with life, and he'd almost forgotten that feeling, dead as he'd been inside for so many years.

Tommy raked a hand through his hair to clear the sensual cobwebs weaving themselves into his brain, and headed for the silent butler by the sitting area. He plucked ice cubes from a bucket and dropped them into a glass.

When she'd turned and looked at him as she took her place at the auction, his whole body had tensed. At first he thought his impression had been a trick of the light, a quirk of his troubled mind, a ghost from his guilty conscience. But the similarities of her face to Alana's grew over the differences, bringing with them a host of emotions he didn't want to feel. Anger, betrayal–even hatred.

He poured whiskey over the ice and listened to the cubes crack and pop.

Jamie's arrival for the signing over of the trust had only compounded the feeling of powerlessness that had slowly enveloped him since Alana's untimely disappearance. A feeling he'd felt only once before in his life and had sworn he'd never allow again.

He brought the glass to his lips, then slammed it down on the cart once more. Damn his blasted temper for getting him into this situation in the first place! He refused to lose a life's worth of work over one ill-timed flash of anger.

As he slugged back a swallow, the pale amber liquid burned his throat. It rested in a fiery ball in his empty stomach, mixing with acid, bringing a caustic squall to life.

He'd watched the way the woman had sat up straight then leaned forward with the anticipation when the Aidan Heart had been raised to the block. The way she'd held her breath, waiting for the opening bid. The way she'd scanned the room, spotting each bidder and assessing her desire to the foreground. And when she'd turned desperate, an uncanny felling of deja vu had swept through him. That's when the mad idea had formed in his mind and wouldn't let go.

Jamie's early arrival had served to imprint the idea further. The woman's cry of outrage as Vincent had placed the winning bid repeated in the chambers of his mind like a ghost's tormented lament. He didn't like resorting to a ruse, but he'd make it worth her while.

His future, his life, and those of his siblings, depended on it.

He picked up the bidder's registration card and studied it. Jude Harrison. An antiques dealer from Nashua. For now, he'd let her cool her heels. Then they'd talk. If he'd read her right, the bait he'd dangle would be irresistible to this hiding in a sleek cat's skin.

They'd both get what they wanted.

The idea was so crazy, it might actually work.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jude took a few minutes to compose herself, but the raw fury refused to be tamed. She tromped down the hall where she'd heard the voices floating. The farther down she went, the darker and colder the atmosphere got. Soundless shapes reached out for her, then retracted into their dark crevices along the walls and ceilings. Tall candles protected by brass-trimmed sconces hung unlit, question marks along her path. Didn't Tom Quincy believe in electricity? Maybe his cash-flow problems were as bad as the old lady had insinuated. That would serve him right, after he'd stolen her treasure from under her. Jude snorted silently. He'd snuck away before she could face him with a counteroffer. Now she'd get her chance to face him, and he'd bear the full brunt of her disappointment.

Trailing her hand along the cold stone wall, she moved cautiously on the faded red runner. The stones seemed to come alive beneath her fingers, undulating mute portents into the marrow of her bones.

Beware. The warning pulsed directly into her brain. Her head snapped back to see who stood behind her. Nothing but the entry's heatless light met her gaze.

Shaking her head to dismiss the creeps crawling over her skin, she followed the sound of muffled voices. She turned back every now and then to make sure she wasn't being followed, unable to quite shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She passed several more arched wooden doors with black iron hardware and tested the latches. Why were all the doors locked? What dark secrets lay behind the cloistered portals? What skeletons?

The voices got closer. Through the half-opened library door, she spotted Tom Quincy. The arrogant snob chatted pleasantly with his guest as if nothing had happened–as if he hadn't pulled the rug out from anybody. Jude regained her sense of purpose. Her anger billowed to new heights, and she reacted before thinking.

"How could you?" She cried. "How could you make such an outrageous bid?"

Two men turned toward her with startled expressions on their faces. Tommy recovered from his surprise quickly and stepped toward her.

"Alana, darling, no need for such a fuss." The rich, deep timbre of his voice floated pleasantly to her, but his smile was near-glacial when he drew her close and kissed her forehead with a featherlike brush of lips.

"Play along," he whispered.

"What?" Jude tried to pull away, but his hand captured one of hers, and his narrow glare warned her not to defy him. What had her impulse propelled her into?

"We can talk about whatever's troubling you later, darling. Why do you think I bought back the Aidan Heart? For you, my sweet."

"What are you talking about? How could you? You, you–" As waves of conflicting feelings battered her, the insult stuck in her throat.

"Because you mean the world to me, darling." His smile held not a trace of warmth and his expression gave her the feeling the words left a rancid taste in his mouth.

Before she had a chance to respond, he turned her toward the distinguished-looking gentleman with the gray hair and neatly trimmed mustache, his palm wide and hot against the small of her back.

"Do you remember Jamie Andrews, your father's lawyer?" Her mouth opened to speak, but he plowed ahead. "No? Well, thirteen years can change a man, can't they? He's come from London in time to celebrate your birthday in two weeks."

Are you crazy?" What sort of game was Tom Quincy playing? Calling her by a name not hers, and pretending it was normal, the man had to have a screw loose somewhere. Holding, the Aidan Heart as ransom for her cooperation, how far would the man go to get what he wanted?

"Darling–"

"What do you–"

"Not now, darling." His gaze steeled and clouded dangerously. "Say hello to Jamie."

As he waited for her reply, his fingers tightened with admonition around her waist, making Jude wonder what might happen if she didn't elect to play along with whatever perverted little game he was playing. Trying to loosen his controlling hold on her, and drown the speck of fear floating to her mind. Jude pasted on a smile and offered Jamie her hand.

She'd play for now. For the Aidan Heart. Then Dr. Tom Quincy would see he wasn't the only one who could bluster like a blizzard.

"Nice to meet you again," Jude managed to say, covering her stunned dismay. Who was Alana anyway? And why would Tommy pretend she was her? "How nice of you to come all the way to Ste-Croix for my birthday."

"Well, this is an important one and I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Jamie released her hand and eyed her curiously. "Besides, it will be my last official duty before I retire. I'm rather looking forward to it."

The last official duty or the retirement? Jude couldn't help the sarcastic streak turning her thoughts sour. Well, enough of this. Satisfied at having played her part in Tommy's charade, she smiled at him.

"You could have told me you'd let me have the Heart. It would have saved both of us a lot of trouble, sweetheart." She gushed the endearment, secretly pleased at his camouflaged discomfort. "Can I go pick it up now?"

"Why don't you wait a minute? Jamie was just about to go and freshen up. There's something I need to discuss with you. About the Christmas fete."

I'll bet! Ooooh, would he have some answering to do! "All right, sweetheart, but I don't have much time and a lot of details to see to."

Jude perched herself on a Louis XIV chair next to Jamie and waited while Tommy rang the intercom by the door. A worn Oriental carpet delineated a cozy sitting area, brightened by a fire glowing in the stone hearth. Three of the four walls held ceiling-to-floor bookshelves, with some of the tomes looking quite ancient. Idly, Jude wondered which of the books she'd have to pull to disclose the hidden access to the dank and musty passageways which surely crisscrossed the bowels of this ugly monstrosity. The fourth wall showcased the fireplace, as well as two tall windows topped with heavy crimson velvet curtains that gleamed like wet blood in the flickering firelight. A garish medieval tapestry decorated the chimney above the stone mantel.

Jamie's gaze brought her attention back to Tommy's guest. Curiosity glinted openly in his pale blue eyes. An uneasy feeling quivered in her stomach under his scrutiny, but Jude put it down to having to choke her anger so fast.

"I must say, Alana, you look marvelous," Jamie said. "The years have treated you well. Why, I remember telling Tommy at your wedding reception, you were a rose that would bloom more beautifully with each passing year. And I was right, wasn't I?"

Wedding reception? Jamie thought she was Tommy's missing wife! What had she gotten herself into?

"How kind of you," was all she could think to say. She'd make Tommy pay for this.

"You have put on a few pounds, but it suits you. I always thought you were much too thin."

Jude bristled at Jamie's misplaced mirth, and bit her tongue in order to keep her retort civil. The ten extra pounds she carried around were a source of aggravation. They clung to her no matter what she ate or how much she exercised. A failure in her docket of successes. She didn't appreciate the reminder.

"You seem to have held up quite well, too." She said. "Men in your profession tend to age quickly."

Jamie beamed at the compliment, not realizing she hadn't meant it that way. Tommy twitched uncomfortably in the background, and Jude nearly gave away her pleasure at his discomfort by smiling. Let him suffer. He'd started this vile charade, not her. She didn't even know the ground rules.

"Well, one does what one can. I take pride in exercising every day. Jamie stood up to freshen his glass of Sherry. "Would you like one?"

"No, I don't drink."

As he poured from the crystal decanter, Jamie raised a questioning eyebrow.

Tommy stood with mechanical discomfort.

"The calories," Tommy mumbled.

"Oh," Jamie said, but his expression gave away his doubt.

Jude placed a conspiratory hand on Jamie's arm, noting out of the corner of her eye Tommy's sharp glare. The ice cubes he dropped into his glass clinked a strident warning. The expensive material of his shirt shifted and stirred fluidly with each movement, but couldn't hide the caged tension beneath. She forged ahead anyway.

"I've heard some people from the village say they've seen a woman haunting this place."

"Really, how interesting!"

"A local about monks and a sacrificial virgin," she said, repeating the rumor she'd heard earlier. As he filled his glass with amber liquid, Tommy shot Jude a look of silent condemnation. Had she gone too far? _Some even say he killed her himself in one of his fits of rage._

"It's only gossip," Tommy said.

Just then the door yawned open and a uniformed butler with a beak nose and thinning white hair came in.

"Valentin," Tommy said with obvious relief. "Please show Mr. Andrews to his room."

"Oui, monsieur." The old butler bowed. "If you'll follow me."

Jamie picked up the briefcase by his feet and rose.

"When can we go over the trust paperwork, Alana? I want to be sure you understand everything for the reversion and signing on your birthday."

"Tomorrow will be soon enough," Tommy interrupted. "Supper is served at seven. We'll see you then."

Jamie looked at Jude and honored her with a smile that reminded her of a jackal's glee. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

She shivered despite herself and snatched her hand away as soon as she could. There was something about the man that inspired no confidence.

"And Valentin," Tommy said as the butler reached to close the door, "please return when you're done."

"Oui, monsieur."

The dark glower in Tommy's eyes, the grim set of his jaw, the coiled sensuality of his movement when he turned toward her had Jude wishing Valentin had left the door open for an easy escape. Not one to lie in wait, she decided to turn the tide in her favor.

Well, Dr. Quincy, care to explain what all that was about?"

"Funny, I was about to ask you the same question. What kind of game did you think you were playing?"

"You started it, you go first," Jude sat back and crossed a leg over one knee, pretending a calmness she didn't feel.

Tommy turned and walked to the massive English walnut desk nestled in the corner by two banks of bookshelves, giving him height, width, and breadth. Did he feel it, too, the strange thickening of air in the room? Did he need the exterior props to shield himself from it? Or did the viscous atmosphere originate with him? He pivoted to face her and skewered her with a dark glare.

"I need a wife."

"Pardon me?" As her foot slapped the floor, Jude was sure her mouth hung open with disbelief. She leaned forward. Did he expect her to marry him, or just play the part?

"I need a wife," he said as if it were a perfectly normal thing to say. Chilling apprehension snaked coldly through her. The man was insane!

With his chin cradled over a fist, he cocked his head and looked her up and down. His slow appraising look made Jude feel like one of the antiques he'd put up for the auction this afternoon. "Your coloring and height are about right, and you seem to have fooled Jamie."

"Fooled Jamie about what?" Then it hit her. "You think I look like your wife?"

"Jamie thinks so, and that's what's important."

Jude rose from her chair, sliding her gloves on.

"I didn't come her to discuss my looks, to fool anyone, or to get engaged. I want the Aidan Heart, then I'll be on my way."

"Thirteen years is a long time and the changes are plausible," Tommy continued as if he hadn't heard her. His gaze lingered disquietingly on the curves of her body. "Alana was raised in Boston, so even your accent works."

"Thank you for you unadulterated show of approval. Now, about the Aidan Heart–"

"How much is two weeks of your life worth to you?"

Jude sank to the chair and sat primly on the unyielding surface, elbows on the armrests. She held her chin high and looked him straight in the eye. "More than you can afford."

The fluid unfurling of tensed muscles as he rounded the desk and came toward her had her blood tripping through her veins at high speed. What fuse had she lit now?

Jude had the compelling urge to jump up and run, but held her ground. She'd show him she was just as strong as he was.

He leaned down, placing his hands on her chair's armrest, his fingers brushing her arms accidentally, striking her like hot lightning. He trapped her there with his aura of power and physical might. The heat of his breath caressed her cheek, turning a wave of trepidation in her stomach. His woodsy scent caused a ripple of turbulence along her skin. The cyclone in his storm-darkened eyes pierced her soul and whirled a myriad of sensations, chief among them an acute feeling of danger.

"Play my wife until the Christmas fete, until Alana's birthday," he said in a deep low voice that vibrated through her like an approaching storm's warning thunder. "And I'll give you the Aidan Heart."

* * *

A/N: Ooh, Cliffhanger!! lol If you want more R&R!! Thanks 


	5. Chapter 3

A/N: Here's the next chapter. I know some of you are kinda confused as to what's going on, but give it a few more chapters...if you still have questions just ask and i'll answer them the best I can without giving to much away. Thanks again. Well on with the story... R&R

* * *

Chapter 3

"I won't do it." Jude ducked under Tommy's caging arms, and moved toward the door–away from his magnetic aura, from his enchanting scent, from his piercing gaze, which both frightened and exhilarated her at the same time.

"Not even for the Aidan Heart?"

She hesitated, her hand hovering above the doorknob.

"You can't buy me."

"Yours free and clear in exchange for two weeks of your time. It seems a fair deal for something you want so desperately."

Damn, he'd pinned her into a neat little corner, hadn't he? She'd spent most of her adult life looking her the darned thing, and most of her childhood dreaming about it. Now, to get the Aidan heart, and see her grandmother's eyes shine once more, she'd have to compromise her standards. She'd have to live a lie when she was known for her honesty. She turned to face him. How far would he go?

"No. I'm sorry, I don't have two weeks to spare. I have a business to attend to, a grandmother who needs me."

"I'll make it worth your while," Tommy said after a short silence. Not even a hint of remorse crisped his stern features. He moved to his desk and riffled through the mess of papers on it.

"I already told you. I'm not for sale. From what I hear, you're not in a position to make such a generous offer."

"Idle village gossip. I hadn't thought you the gullible sort." He opened a drawer, the solid flex of his muscles beneath the shirt uninterrupted by her barb. He searched the drawer's contents, slammed it shut, then started on the next. "Everyone has a price."

"You don't even know who I am." Arms crossed over her chest, Jude waited for his next move, icy expectation standing between them.

He stopped suddenly. His shadow loomed long and spectral on the wall behind him. "Your name is Jude Harrison and you're an antiques dealer from Nashua."

His smile caught her off guard. It lit up his face in a most attractive way, and she almost forgot her anger.

"How did you know?" She turned away from the desk, eclipsing his smile from her sight.

He picked up an index card and let it float back to his desk. "Your registration card for the auction."

He resumed his search and came up with an antique silver frame, then handed it to her, his fingers hesitating for a moment against hers. She took the frame more to break the unnerving contact than anything else, but a warm shiver still managed to snake through her. Even as she focused on the picture, she couldn't stop the heated hum where skin had touched skin.

The photograph showed the face of a happy bride. The hair color, framed in white lace, was different than hers, she noted–darker, richer. The eyes also appeared darker, but the picture's colors had mutated with time. The facial features were similar enough that Jamie might put down to maturity the differences in their looks. Yes, the young girl in the picture might have grown into something like her. A shiver crawled along her scalp and slid down her spine.

"Uncanny, isn't it?" Tommy's voice startled her from her reverie.

"Yes." Jude placed the picture on the desk and retreated to the fireplace. She needed warmth to thaw the cold ice clogging her veins.

"Think of this as a vacation."

"I haven't said I'll take your offer." She rubbed her hands and offered her palms to the heat emanating from the weaving flames.

"I saw the way you looked at that piece of glass." Tommy came to stand behind her. His presence pulsated along her skin, raising the hairs along her arms in static protest. "I saw how fervently you tried to hide your desire while you bid." His breath caressed her hair like a passionate wind. "You want the Aidan Heart more than you want anything else in the world." His voice wooed her like a gentle spring breeze. "What's a few weeks of your life for something you want so much?"

His fingers reached for her shoulders and the possessive weight of his palms felt as if it burned a hole through her coat. "Jude..."

Her name sang into her soul and echoed in her mind. He'd said it so gently, she could almost believe this dark man had a heart. And God help her, she couldn't leave without the Aidan Heart.

What were a few weeks when she'd searched for her ancestor's sculpture for most of her life?

A log in the fireplace broke in half and crashed on the hot bed of coals, sending up a shower of sparks.

"Why do you need me to pretend I'm Alana?" Jude asked, trying to figure out exactly what she'd get herself into if she accepted. Her throat felt dry, her palms sweaty. "How do you expect to fool Jamie? What if he sees a more recent picture of her?"

"That won't be a problem."

Tommy slipped his hands from her shoulders, and Jude found herself inexplicably bereft. "Won't he find it suspicious that there are no pictures lying about?"

Tommy returned to his desk. "Alana hated to have her picture taken. She didn't realize this picture existed. It's the only one I have of her. You'll do it then? You'll play Alana?"

"I haven't said so. I still don't know exactly what you expect from me. What if Jamie wants to talk about Alana's family, her past?"

"I'll coach you on the basics. You'll do your best to avoid him most of the time." Tommy sat down in the big leather chair behind his desk. "Basically, you need to be seen not heard until Jamie leaves after Alana's birthday."

"Why?"

"Because there's a lot at stake." Guarded tension stretched his features taut. Secrets, dark and dangerous, oozed from his every pore, igniting her curiosity and firing urgent warnings along her strained nerves like the dots and dashes of Morse code.

"Like what?" Jude dragged a chair by his desk and sat down. Even if the village gossip proved true, he needed her alive, she had nothing to fear from him.

"Like a trust fund worth millions that reverts to her in a few weeks' time on her 30th birthday."

Greed, always a good motive for murder. Why hadn't anyone else thought of it? But then, only the gossip of old ladies had Alana dead. To the rest of the logical world she was merely missing. And wouldn't he wait until after the signing over the trust to kill her?

"As her husband, won't you inherit?"

Tommy picked up a pencil from his desk and tapped it on his other hand in an annoying nervous rhythm. His eyes hardened, putting more distance between them.

"With Alana missing, there will be delays and I need my promised share now to continue my work. I'm close to a breakthrough. She couldn't have picked a worse time to...leave."

"That sounds awfully cold."

The pencil stilled; the eyes didn't. They seemed to bore deeper and deeper, past the cracks in her mask, to her soft inner core, and anchor. What was he looking for? What did he want from her? Tommy's unwavering scrutiny narrowed the room, making her edgy and stifling her breath low in her lungs. She smoothed the skin of her dress to remind herself she was indeed fully clothed.

"There are crucial circumstances," Tommy said.

"Such as?"

The corded tendons along his jaw drew tight, relaxed then tightened again, but he didn't say anything.

"What if she comes back?"

Tommy dropped the pencil and stood up abruptly. He walked to the window, but Jude could have sworn he didn't see the mad dance of snowflakes falling past the windowpane. The iron-stiff set of his face frightened her with its severity. Something ate at him. Guilt? What had happened between him and Alana to cause such unbending grimness? His skin had paled, making him appear even more formidable.

"What if she comes back?" Jude found the courage to ask again, not sure she really wanted an answer. Her mind had already worked overtime on sinister conclusions.

"I doubt she will." His voice grated with something close to hatred. His jaw tensed, raising tiny knots along the muscle. He didn't amplify. Or was the harshness due to his lose? Could she be mistaken? Had he loved Alana, and were the ominous feelings snaking through her just a product of her fertile imagination fueled by the house's ghoulish grimness?

Jude digested the information he'd given her while a dozen questions popped into her mind. If he loved Alana, why had she left? Why wouldn't she be back? Was it because of Tommy, or something else? Something permanent...like death.

_Some even say he killed her himself..._

"What about the people in the village, won't they know the difference?" Jude asked, trying to sway her thoughts away from their direful direction.

"Alana rarely ventured there, and there's no need for you to leave the monastery. All your needs will be taken care of. Only Valentin, my butler, and Vincent Speiderman, my assistant, will need to know the truth, and they've both proven their trust."

Trying to slow down her mind and make sense of the bits of information he fed her, she focused on the tapestry over the fireplace. A medieval battle took place. Knights in shining armor on trusty steeds fought for the Holy Grail, killing for their perception of Truth and Right.

Well, that didn't help at all. The bloody carnage darkened her already dismal thoughts. There were always two sides to everything, weren't there? Perceptions changed truth. Didn't all the wars in the name of God prove that? Would she really be compromising her honesty by accepting the role in exchange for her heart's desire? And there was Gram's to think of. A week, a month. The doctors weren't sure how long she had left; they could only say that her time was near. Would two weeks be too long?

Jude studied the room, looking for an answer to her dilemma among the sullen whispers of the past swirling about the room. The stones seemed to pulse again with unseen life.

_Beware._

The whisper into her brain chilled her to the bone. She looked around the room, but saw nothing out of place. She shook her head, and put the perceived thought to a figment of her overtired mind.

_Oh, Gram, what am I getting myself into?_

Could she live for two weeks in the coldness of this grim stone house, among the austere monks' ghosts and the cloak of sadness permeating the walls?

"Can't you get your funding elsewhere?" Jude asked, trying to fill the heavy silence while she thought her alternatives through.

"My options are...limited. The income from the monastery's various holding's isn't enough to support the monastery, let alone my research."

"The Monastery Company. That's you?"

"Yes."

"Why stay here then?" Jude asked. "Why not sell this place?"

He sat down, leaned his elbows on the chair's armrests and tented his fingers. "You want the Aidan Heart, don't you?"

She nodded.

"And there's no logical reason for it, right?"

"No."

He lifted his hands. "I love this place, and there's no logical reason for it."

For an instant, his eyes showed the truth of his words and his face softened. Just as fast, the fleeting impression vanished, leaving Jude to wonder if she'd simply imagined it.

"As for my research," he continued, "I do it for a very personal reason, and the trust would enable me to keep it–and the monastery–going without worry. I won't be the only beneficiary of your kindness. A lot of people depend on me for their livelihoods, and maybe even their lives."

The reasoning seemed noble enough, yet Jude sensed there remained much untold. Did she really want to know the truth? Shadowed fear fought with her soul's deep yearning.

"I can't afford to take two weeks off work," Jude said, mirroring his seated stance. Years of dealing had taught her the fine art of negotiation. "I have to keep buying and selling merchandise." But they had been lonely years. "I have to keep visible." They hadn't taught her to manage these strange gut feelings, or the way this man's mere presence could short-circuit her usually ordered thinking. She fought now for her edge, for the safety of her professional mask, for the knowledge that his need matched her own in ferocity. How far would he go? "As much as I want the Aidan Heart. I do have to make a living. Then there's the complication of my grandmother. She may not have two weeks to live."

His cold, gray gaze fixed on her. She didn't flinch. The silence grew between them until Jude thought she would suffocate from it. His pointed stare made her want to squirm, but instinct told her she couldn't let her discomfort show. She kept very still outwardly, but inwardly everything buzzed.

Staring back at him didn't help, because she saw so much and yet so little in the vivid gray pools. Everything about him seemed so contradictory–sensuous lips and a hard demeanor; eyes that thawed and iced over with no rhyme or reason; a seemingly logical approach to everything and an illogical love for a place. Which was the real Tommy? The murderer of village gossip who'd killed his wife in a fit of rage, or the driven researcher looking for some mysterious cure?

"Over the years, I've collected a fair amount of antique glass," Tommy said finally, breaking his mesmerizing eye contact. Jude swallowed her sigh of relief. "I've put off my collection's appraisal for far too long. I's like to hire you to do the job."

"I–"

"I'll pay you your going rate, and I'll also give you free title to the Aidan heart when you leave after the Christmas fete."

Tom Quincy was no fool. He knew exactly which string to pull. Jude was sorely tempted. She wanted the sculpture...she couldn't leave without it.

"I've worked hard for what I've earned," Tommy added, leaning back in his chair. "I'd hate to see it go to my wife's cousin, who hasn't worked a day in his life and would squander it, when it could be put to good use. How much care does your grandmother need?"

"She's cared for physically. What she needs is my presence to tie her to reality."

"Would a visit every few days work?"

If she accepted his offer, she'd have her treasure and money besides to increase her inventory of merchandise. Her work here would be legitimate, and the telephone would keep her in touch with Gram's condition on a daily basis, and with the outside world should the need arise. Professionally speaking, she'd be a fool not to accept. What about personally? Could she trust this man?

"Be assured, Miss Harrison," Tommy said. He had the air of a man who'd had enough of negotiations and now played his trump card. "As long as I'm alive, the Aidan Heart will never make its way onto the market. If you want it, make your decision. Now."

The deceptive silky smoothness of his voice rang with implicit power. She didn't want to, but she yielded. She had no choice. Not if she wanted the Aidan heart–for herself, for Gram.

But she wouldn't capitulate completely. She'd been her own woman far too long to submit meekly to anyone–especially someone who could buffet her like a rudderless ship in a storm.

"All right, I accept, but I refuse to do anything illegal. I won't call myself by your wife's name. I won't sign any documents. And if I find you're using me to defraud Alana, I'll report you to the authorities."

* * *

**Hope you liked it!!! R&R for more...lol Oh and check out mandy1485's story, Embrace the Night, it's another really good one! Thanks again**


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**(Thoughts of Someone within the house)**

_He watched the woman leave the library. She was a complication. But he was used to those. Tommy had never made anything easy for him, had taken so much from him already. The woman's resemblance to the departed Alana was uncanny. His memory drifted to the real Alana and their last night together. How sweet the taste of her final breath to his mouth! He tugged the cuff of his shirt over the faint scar of scratches on his wrists. The bitch. She deserved what she got. They all did._

_Perhaps he could use this resemblance to his advantage. Use her to put the final screw in his revenge when he exposed her treachery. Then he'd set his trap and watch Tommy's world fall apart. Watch Tommy lose all claims to the trust fund, to his research, to his future. Watch Tommy as he realized he was doomed to die the same horrid death his father had died–painful, destructive._

_Yes, he could make this work to his advantage. He would watch and manipulate. He would stir the pot of suspicion. The lies would be exposed. Then he'd have his revenge...and more._

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jude followed Valentin up and down the meandering, dimly lit corridors to a set of stairs carved straight out of the gray stone. The cool, damp air chilled her to the bone. She tried to shake the uneasiness licking at her heels, then shifted her concentration to memorizing the path they followed, but one colorless stone wall pretty much looked like the next, and she lost count of the multitude of shadowed arched doors with black iron locks they passed.

"The place doesn't look this big from the outside." Jude said, trying to dispel the gloomy silence between them.

"Non, madame."

"Do you ever get lost?" Jude asked with a forced chuckle. The eerie clipping of her footsteps behind the butler's silent ones on the stone stairs reminded her irrationally of a prisoner being led to his execution.

"Non, madame."

Valentin, it seemed, was not a man of many words. Between Tommy's glowering silences and Valentin's sparse conversation, this could prove to be a very long two weeks.

"It must be hard to keep up with the housework."

"Most of the house is closed, and in the summer we hire staff to keep up appearances for the weekend guided tours. Curiosity about the monks' legend brings them in."

"I'm not familiar with the legend."

"The curse of the Holy Cross Brotherhood."

"Ah." Jude couldn't think of anything else to say as she followed Valentin's ramrod-stiff penguin gait.

When they turned into an upstairs hallway, the walls' wraith like shadows reached out for her again. Their cold, clammy fingers snatched at her hair, prickling the base of her neck with the feeling of coming doom. She quickly reached back to brush the uncomfortable feeling away, half expecting her fingers to twine into the sticky ectoplasm of a ghost. Instead, they met only empty space.

Beware.

The whisper echoed eerily inside her head, erupting a series of shivers down her spine.

"Does anyone besides you and Tommy live here?" She asked, sure a logical conclusion could be found for her auditory hallucination.

"No one, madame." He paused for an instant. "Except perhaps the ghosts."

"Ghosts?" Jude had a feeling Valentin wanted to scare her deliberately. Why? Whatever the reason, his tactic was definitely working. Jude couldn't remember the last time she'd been this spooked about anything, and wondered again at the wisdom of her decision to stay. I'm safe, she repeated to herself like a mantra. The joy she'd bring to her grandmother with the Aidan Heart was worth a few nights in a scary house. It couldn't be worse than the sleepless nights she'd spent after listening to some of her brother's ghost stories.

"The monks, madame. They lived and died here for a century before disappearing."

"What happened to them?"

"Their secret was discovered."

"Their secret?" She almost wished Valentin had stuck to one-word answers. The old geezer was giving her a bad case of the creeps.

He shook his head. "Too unspeakable to mention." He stopped by a door and clinked keys from a large brass ring until her found the right one. Probably enjoying the macabre echo they created as the noise bounced off the stone walls. Jude thought. "Their legacy lives on."

His answer left her imagination to run rampant with dastardly possibilities. Fourteen more days of this. She'd scare herself to death before she could take the Aidan Heart home.

Valentin unlocked the door and handed her the key before she stepped inside the room and flicked on the lights. "This was Madame Alana's room."

The house's stony coldness extended to this room. Jude felt out of place in the large room's opulence. Not that she didn't appreciate the fineries of life, but this room, despite its picture perfect decor, lacked something. Her own house in Nashua might be small, but each room radiated a feeling of warmth, a feeling of life. She found this room's rigid formality depressing.

Yards of sheer material draped the large bed's canopy. A rich coverlet of emerald and gold, decorated with a dozen pillows in all shapes and sizes, lay over the mattress. Valentin snapped open the heavy emerald brocade curtains trimmed with gold, covering the single window. The darkening gray sky didn't allow in much light. If anything, it heightened the caged feeling, increasing Jude's uneasiness.

A huge English walnut wardrobe crowded the back wall. Valentin opened the double doors. "I doubt many of these clothes fit you, but..."

Jude stuck her tongue out at the butler's back. Not that she'd want to fit in them, anyway. From what she could see. Alana's taste in clothes might be expensive, but it lacked subtlety. "I'll get some of my own stuff tomorrow."

"As you wish, madame."

Jude walked to the small vanity and trailed a finger along the dust on the old wood. This house with all its empty rooms and cavern-like corridors would dampen her natural optimism if she let it. Was that why Alana had left? Had the incredible sadness of the house finally overcome her?

"What was she like–Alana?" Jude asked as she picked up a silver brush scrolled with a fancy T from the tray on the vanity.

"It is not my place to answer your questions." Valentin bustled about at amazing speed for someone so frail-looking. He heaped the decorative pillows onto the carved trunk at the end of the bed, turned down the coverlet, then opened the heavy wood door next to the vanity. "The bathroom is through here. There are fresh towels behind the door."

"You don't approve do you? Jude asked as she replaced the brush in its exact position, then turned to face the stern butler.

"It is not my place to pass judgment."

"I'm not trying to replace her."

"As I said, madame, it is not my place to say. But..."

"But what?"

Valentin's balding pate, beaked nose and loose jowl skin reminded her of an aging eagle. He searched her face with a narrowed gaze, then as if changing his mind, he shrugged. "Madame Alana's disappearance has saddened us all."

"I'm sure it has..." Jude felt sure he'd wanted to say something else.

He bowed and backed out the door. "If you need anything, madame, the intercom is by the door. Ring the service button and someone will answer."

He made it sound as if the house teemed with servants. "Thank you, Valentin."

"Soyez Prudente," Valentin mumbled as he left.

What had he said? Before Jude could ask for an explanation, Valentin shut the door with a resounding boom that echoed down the empty corridor like a small explosion. She looked at the ancient key in her hand. At least he hadn't locked her in. She could leave at any time. With a sigh she went to the window. Maybe she should leave.

The snow fell in fat weighted flakes that stuck to the glass with the wind's force. Shapeless white blanketed the cobbled courtyard. The last of the auction goers were leaving, their headlights cutting bright arcs across the darkening sky. Only her own Volvo remained–a white mound in the flat yard.

She sat on the window's stone ledge, leaned her head against the frigid glass and blew against her pane, clouding it with her warm breath. With a finger she squiggled a random doodle.

As Jude's mind drifted to her childhood, a circle of pines replaced the monastery's shadowy landscape. The roses of her grandmother's garden bloomed all around her. Gram's finest china and linen graced the flaking wooden picnic table. Jude saw herself carrying a plate heaped with cakes and tarts as Gram poured the tea into cups. She remembered well the taste of the tangy lemon curd sauce she heaped onto scones. But most of all she remembered the way her grandmother's face lit up when she spoke of Aidan and Diane's love. Jude had felt so secure, so safe in that circle of pines, surrounded by the scent of roses and her grandmother's friendship. Was it so wrong to want the feeling back? Was it so wrong to want to see that bright light in Gram's eyes once more?

She studied Alana's room again. Secure was the last thing she felt right now. She was cold and alone, and if truth be told, a little scared. What did she know about Tom Quincy? What if he had killed his wife? If the house wasn't creepy enough, her unseemly reaction to its master would be enough to shake her confidence. But he needed her alive, didn't he? Until this mysterious Christmas fete she would be safe–then she'd be gone with the Aidan Heart.

Jude sighed wearily. She didn't have long to wash up before Tommy expected her to put in her first performance. She couldn't let herself fall prey to the house's dreary mood.

She crossed the room and went into the bathroom. Again the opulence caught her by surprise. Who would have thought the plumbing could be so modern? A sunken tub, big enough for two, took up most of the room. Had Tommy and Alana shared loving baths here? She giggled at her image of Tommy surrounded by frothy scented bubbles–not too likely!

Alana's toiletries still stood on a mirrored tray. How odd. Jude picked up a half-used blood-red lipstick and replaced it before trailing a finger through the assortment of bottles and jars on the tray. Wouldn't a woman bent on running away have taken at least some of her toiletries with her? Wouldn't she have taken some clothes, too? How fast had she fled, and why?

A shudder shook her. Her gaze shifted to the wooden tray at the opposite end of the counter. She picked up the cologne bottle made by a local perfumery. Inhaling the scent, she realized it held the same woodsy tone that Tommy wore, which had so muddled her senses earlier. Had Alana picked it out for him, or was it his choice? For an insane half moment, she hoped it was the latter.

Curiosity led her to the wooden door opposite the one leading to her room. Tommy's room? Her hand hesitated for a second on the knob, but when she found it turned, she pushed it and went in.

She smiled. Now this room looked lived in. Unlike Alana's pristine room, this place was a delightful mess. Magazines, papers, maps lay in disarray over every piece of man-size furniture. Clothes had been dropped in a heap on an easy chair and forgotten. Even the bed was mussed. Either Valentin's housekeeping skills weren't to par, or Tommy didn't like his privacy intruded upon.

Jude expected the red, green and blue plaid comforter had been chosen more for comfort than eye appeal. She sat down on the edge of the bed in the darkened room, feeling its coziness while she ran a hand over the blue flannel sheets. She'd much rather sleep in this room than share the other with Alana's ghost.

How long had it been since Alana and Tommy had shared a room? A bed? What would it be like to sleep with Tommy here? Would she feel secure or defenseless? Would he show her his blustery side, or would the sensuality promised by his full lips come through?

She blushed at the thought. She didn't want to know. Not really. Because to know, she'd have to expose too much of herself, and she couldn't afford to do that.

So lost was she in her daydream that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her. When a hand buried itself erotically in her hair, she screamed and jumped off the bed. With her heart beating a hundred miles an hour, she whirled to face her attacker, hands forward in a defensive position. She found herself looking straight into Tommy's remote face and desire-darkened eyes.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's dangerous to come into a man's room uninvited?"


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not nice to scare people out of their skins?" Jude said, raising a hand to her tripping heart while the panicked rush of her pulse tried to regain its balance. Gray, like smoke, his silhouette had no sharp edges in the bedroom's dusky light, Tommy looked more intimidating than ever. She shook her head to bury the primal betrayal of her body to his erotic touch of her hair.

As she moved to put distance between them, seeking to remove the disturbing threat if his nearness, his gaze fixed her unblinkingly. But she wasn't fast enough. His hand caught her wrist, circling it like a warm manacle, holding fast like tempered steel. Her pulse bumped beneath his thumb, unmasking her cool exterior.

"A man's room is where he dreams, where he conquers." His free hand buried itself in her hair once more, bringing her face close to his as he whipped her cuffed hand behind her and pressed her body against his. Her lips parted involuntarily in anticipation of his kiss. A stab of fear pierced her gut at the violent storm in his eyes. Her skin snapped and crackled with static where their bodies met.

"Unless you're prepared for the consequences," he said, his breath vibrating against her lips, "I suggest you keep out of my room."

She swallowed hard, wishing he'd let her go, hoping insanely he'd kiss her.

"I'm sorry," she said lamely. "I didn't mean to intrude."

He let her go abruptly. She fell back. Rubbing the wrist he'd held, she recalled his steely warmth, the echo of his pulse beating in opposition, then in rhythm, to hers, the rush of heat it had stirred in her blood. She wondered how his lips would have felt against hers. Would they have been soft as their fullness promised, or hard like the rest of his face?

Why did she care?

She shot him a quick glance. He grabbed a blue sweater from his dresser and pulled it over his head, nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened between them. And nothing had, she reminded herself, except for the temporary short-circuiting of her brain. The wool molded over his shoulders, accentuating their breadth, their might. He centered the knot of his tie between the starched collar of his white shirt. She looked away, not wanting to be sucked into the vortex of his strength once again.

It had been a long time since she'd dared let a man touch her, let a man make her feel vulnerable. And as out of place as it seemed, she had wanted him to touch her, to kiss her. With his hard eyes and soft lips, Tom Quincy would be the wrong place to start looking for easy companionship. There was nothing easy or companionable about him, especially in the lengthening shadows of the room.

Yes, the stony set of his face almost guaranteed she'd get emotionally bruised and battered in this relationship.

And when he was through, there would be nothing left of her in the splintered remnants spit out of his twister. But he would escape unscathed–as he suspected he always did.

"What did you want?" he asked, his voice filled with impatience. The clandestine light of dusk shifted around him, shielding the mirror of his eyes from her view.

"Nothing. I–I..." She didn't know what to say. That was a first. Jude Harrison at a loss for words! She recoiled farther away, closer to the bathroom, closer to escape.

"It doesn't matter." He dismissed her stammer with a wave of his hand. "I needed to see you anyway. There are a few things we need to go over."

He snapped on the overhead light, throwing garish light over the room, playing sharp black shadows against the gray stone walls. After clearing the clothes from the easy chair, he gestured for her to sit. "Come, we don't have much time."

She shook her head at his invitation and crossed her arms protectively over her chest. "What kind of things?" The chair would cage her, and she needed to feel free.

"Alana's history."

"Oh, yes. I suppose that would help." A soft sigh of relief escaped her. Away from his formidable proximity, she regained her poise.

"I wish you'd sit," he said.

"So you can tower over me? Forget it. I'll stand."

His eyebrows rose and he gave her an odd look. "Suit yourself."

Tommy paced the room with studious purpose, pulling facts from the files of his mind. His hasty movements took him in and out of the shadows as if he belonged equally in the worlds of light and dark. Lover or murderer? She shook her head to dispel the grisly thought.

"Your name is Alana Cherie Quincy," Tommy said.

"You mother's na–"

"My name is Jude." She couldn't help it. Submitting meekly wasn't her style. "I told you I can't use hers."

He stopped pacing and stood hands on hips. "Must you be so difficult? We don't have time to waste."

"Why, yes I must." She mimicked his voice, his movements, and felt a smile tug the corner of her mouth. Yes, this was better. Having Tommy unstrung and struggling for control was much better than the other way around. This she could handle.

"My wife's name is Alana, how do you expect me to explain the discrepancy?"

"Use your imagination."

He grumbled something about cursed luck under his breath and resumed his pacing, giving her a terse history of his life with Alana.

They'd met while he'd interned over summer vacation at the U.S. branch of Chandler Pharmaceuticals. Encouraged by Alana's father, their attraction had grown swiftly; the summer had passed quickly. Promises had been made and honored a year later.

"Alana is British?"

"By birth. She was raised in Boston."

Tommy's voice faded and Jude waited for him to continue. He'd recounted his story with factual dryness. Flat and cold like the air in the room. Were the memories too painful, or had deeper feelings never existed?

"What happened?" She prodded when he didn't speak.

"We married. I finished my degree. I was offered a permanent research position with Chandler Pharmaceuticals." He flicked on the bedside light as a distraction to the obvious pain flitting through his expressive eyes, making him human, vulnerable for a moment. The chiseled sternness returned swiftly, making her wonder if she'd been mistaken.

He stood silent by the window, offering her a view of his profile. The crisp creases in his winter-weight wool pants matched the furrowed lines on his face. Sadness or guilt? Unexpectedly, Jude wanted to hold him and unburden him from his grief. But she didn't move. Being a wife wasn't part of the deal, only acting.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, tightening the fabric of his pants over his buttocks, and stared deep into the dark thickness of night. "Both were a mistake."

A mistake? Curiosity had her longing to pursue that thread, but she sensed it would be a blunder.

"Is there anything else I should know?" She asked. Watching him stare blankly out the window made her uneasy because she didn't know what to expect–from him; from her. "What about preferences–food, drink, activities, et cetera?"

For a moment she thought he wouldn't answer, then he turned from the window and leaned his trim backside on the sill. "She liked everything expensive. Quality didn't matter, only price. She drank a lot. To forget, she said. As for activities, I'd prefer you not emulate her in that department. I suggest you simply act naturally. Jamie's bound to sense a forced performance."

He glanced at his watch. "It's time. Why don't you run a brush through that mane of yours, and we'll go down to dinner." Flexing his thighs, he pushed himself off the sill.

"You'll be all right?" He asked, giving her a queer little look that shivered all the way to her toes.

"I'll be myself," Jude said. Her smile cracked her face despite an attempt to suppress it. As long as she fought him, she wouldn't fall. Being herself was no problem, but it might not quite meet Dr. Tom Quincy's expectations.


	8. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The dining room proved as formal and gloomy as the rest of the house. Wraith like shadows played across the tall ceiling. Three multi tiered crystal chandeliers hung evenly spaced over the table's length. The long table could have seated twenty-four easily, but the crisp white linen cloth was set with only three places. The tall red and gold-upholstered chairs dwarfed their occupants. The heavy sideboard stood empty. Here again a series of solemn black-hooded monks stared at them from their glit frames on the striped wallpaper, passing judgment, it seemed, at the affluence denied them in life.

_All that's missing is the cobwebs and the rattling of ghostly chains_, Jude thought as she sat in the chair Tommy held for her.

Valentin pushed a squeaky cart laden with silver-domed trays while Jamie regaled them with disquieting loudness in the cavernous room. "Can you imagine being stuck beside such a chap for all those hours?"

Jude downed her chuckle with a sip of water. Her pity sided with Jamie's unfortunate seatmate.

"Are you still afraid of flying, Alana?" Jamie asked, then tested the wine in his goblet.

"Please call me Cat–"

Tommy tapped her ankle under the table with his foot and glowered an icy warning at her. She stomped slyly on his toe with the heel of her shoe while she smiled graciously at Jamie. Tommy's pinched lips told her she'd found her mark.

"That's Tommy's pet name for me, and I've grown rather fond of it over the years."

She snatched a roll from the bread basket, tore off a piece and slipped easily into her roll. She had to play it well; her dream was at stake, not only Tommy's. But playing it Tommy's way wouldn't work, and as much as he scared her with his frosty charm and tempestuous eyes, she had nothing to fear until he held the trust–then she'd be gone before she could suffer his wrath.

"If I'd gotten over my fear of flying," Jude continued, "I'd surely have flown to England to visit you. I'd forgotten what an interesting person you are. But there's just something about trusting your life to a shell of metal thirty thousand feet above ground." She scrunched her shoulders and feigned a shiver.

"It's really quite safe, you know." Jamie picked at the plate Valentin placed in front of him, removing the orange sauce from the chicken breast with the side of his fork. "Tell me, Tommy, is that butler of yours the only servant you've got left? I rang the service bell for half an hour before I got an answer."

Tommy sawed his meat. His jaw twitched once before he answered, "Times have been hard lately. We do the best we can."

Jamie pushed the peas around his plate, tasted one, then rejected the rest. "I dare say, you'll be happy when the trust money stars flowing, won't you?"

"It will ease my mind."

"And you, my dear, how have you stood the isolation all these years?"

"Boston isn't that far. Neither is New York. I've got plenty of distractions to keep me occupied. Then, of course, I have Tommy." She smiled widely, playing her role of adoring wife to the hilt, enjoying challenging Tommy's silent warning's.

"Yes," Jamie said, putting aside his knife and fork, and studying her. "I can see how you feel. How nice to know the bloom of love could have survived for thirteen years without fading. You're a lucky man, T.Q. But then, you always were."

"How's cousin Darius doing?" Tommy asked, pushing his plate aside and reaching for his wineglass.

"Splendidly as ever. Anne's health, on the other hand, has suffered. But the doctors think she'll carry to term this time." He sent Tommy a pointed stare. Tommy didn't flinch, but downed another sip of wine. "I'm looking forward to playing adopted granddad to the baby. When will you two add an heir to the Quincy's clan?"

Jude looked down at her plate, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. This was a subject she'd rather not touch. Babies weren't a likely part of her future.

"We still have plenty of time," Tommy said without missing a beat.

Jamie moved on to business matters, family and mutual friends. Jude ate without tasting, and listened to the slight undercurrent of tension building beneath the idle chatter. She fell back easily on the conversation skills she'd cultivated over the years, and kept the ball rolling when it threatened to grind to a halt and squash the brittle lie of their deceitful game.

As Valentin served dessert and coffee, Jude noticed the tired lines along Tommy's eyes. Were the constant reminders of Alana creating the stress, or was it simply playing the charade? She hadn't thought of the angle before, and watched him with renewed interest.

Citing a long day ahead of him, Tommy excused himself. Jude and Jamie rose to join him. They all walked up the long, dark and lonely corridors together, stopping by Tommy's room to say good-night.

"Separate bedrooms?" Jamie said as Jude and Tommy reached for different knobs. "Do you expect to produce an heir this way?"

"Of course not." Jude placed a hand on Jamie's elbow. She pointed her chin toward Tommy and spoke in a loud whisper. "He snores like a car without a muffler, and as much as I love that dear husband of mine, a girl does need her beauty sleep. The connecting door is always open for, you know..." She let the rest of the sentence hang.

Jamie roared with laughter.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jamie," Tommy muttered.

"Sleep well, dear boy." The twinkling in Jamie's eye suggested the slightest tinge of envy.

Jude stepped into her room, clicking on the light before she moved to close the door. Tommy followed her in and shut the door decisively. He covered the space between them in two long strides. When she looked at him in surprise, his hand reached for her chin.

"You had your fun tonight." His voice caressed her with false gentleness, his hand, warm and hard, held her like a steel snare, imprinting her mind with the tiniest shadow of fear. Anger flashed like lightning in his eyes. "If you're not careful, Jamie will read through your act."

"What do you mean? I followed your orders. I was being myself." Despite her outward indifference, Jude found it hard to swallow.

"There's a lot at stake here." His grip on her arm tightened. "Remember, there's a price to be paid if you fail."

Jude swatted his hand off and spun away from his grip. "Hey, wait a minute! I get the Aidan Heart no matter what."

Tommy raft a hand through his hair, then kneaded the back of his neck. "Not if you're going to deliberately blow your cover."

"How do you expect me to play the role of someone I've never met after you've told me next to nothing about her?" She snagged his arm as he moved toward the bathroom door. "I'm doing my best."

He stopped and stabbed her with a piercing gaze. "I must be able to trust you."

"Trust has to go both ways." She wasn't sure he'd heard her words over the explosive slam of their connecting door.

Trying to dispel her frustration, Jude plopped onto the bed and called the hospital to check up on Gram and gave the nurses the number where she could be reached. Nothing had changed in Gram's condition--which was both a relief and a worry. Then she called her friend and partner, Claire Martel. For her own peace of mind, Jude needed someone on her side. Predictable Claire was right where Jude expected her to be--at home, at her desk, even at ten on a Saturday evening.

"Why aren't you out being romanced by a handsome young man?" Jude teased.

"Someone's got to do the books."

"Isn't that why we hire an accountant?"

"Did you get caught in the storm? Claire asked deftly avoiding Jude's prying.

"You could say that." Jude told her about her adventure with the Aidan Heart and its dark owner, and her decision to stay in Ste-Croix.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Claire asked.

Jude could hear Claire drum the eraser end of her pencil on the desk. Even her frown managed to telegraph itself through the wire.

"Of course I do." Jude tucked her bare feet beneath her and switched the receiver from one ear to the other. "It's time someone took Dr. Quincy down a notch or two."

"I don't know..."

"Stop worrying. I'm perfectly safe."

"Your shimmering walls aren't going to make sure nothing bad happens to you."

"Not him, but the monk's sacrificial virgin will." She forced a light chuckle while Claire groaned. She could just see Claire with her eyes rolled toward the ceiling in exasperation. How the two of them, with such different personalities, had become friends was one of life's mysteries. "No, look, I'm safe. I've got a lot in my favor. Number one, he needs me alive until he gets the trust. Number two, those self-defense classes you're always dragging me to will make me able to hold my own—"

"And number three, you take too many risks," Claire cut in. "What about the pickle you got yourself into last year when you thought Mr. Chin was trying to use you for some illegal smuggling operation?"

Jude reached for her purse on the night table beside the bed and searched for her brush. "Not one of my swiftest moves, but you've got to admit, he was acting awfully suspicious, and I was trying to protect our business and our reputation."

"That's not the point. The point is you were wrong."

"Not completely. He did have two wives who didn't know about each other."

Claire groaned once more, and Jude heard the crack of her pencil breaking in two.

"I'm not wrong this time," Jude continued, stroking her hair into order while scanning the colorless walls with all their shadowy cracks and crevices. Once again they seemed to come alive before her eyes, pulsating, shimmering like hot asphalt on a summer day. She swallowed hard. "If you saw this place, if you felt it, you'd understand. Besides, I always land on my feet."

"Yeah, but you've also used up at least eight of your nine lives looking for that stupid piece of glass."

"Then that leaves me with one more before the final goodbye." Jude returned her brush to her purse.

"And I've got you looking out for me. Pack me a suitcase. I'll come pick it up tomorrow when I visit Gram. And stop worrying. I know what I'm doing."

"I sure hope so." Claire sighed, obviously unconvinced. "Promise you'll keep in touch. If I don't hear from you every day, I'll call the police."

"You worry too much. But I promise I'll keep you up to date." Jude twirled the rubbery telephone cord around her index finger. "Thanks, Claire, for caring."

"Yeah, well, I need you to keep business flowing through our shop door. Just make sure you don't bury yourself in too deep over there."

After saying goodbye to Claire, Jude steeled herself for a night in this inhospitable room. Her gaze stayed to the closed door separating her from Tommy. She might have taken a dozen self-defense classes with Claire, but they'd been ineffective enough this afternoon when Tommy had trapped her with a mere look, paralyzing her with his stormy eyes and magnetic look, of power. She remembered, too, how she'd wanted his kiss, trembled with desire for it–a willing victim. Her uncharacteristic response to him could prove a liability in the future if she didn't immunize herself against him.

She sighed heavily as she rose to find a change of clothes. She'd tripped into an intricate web, but was she the spider or the fly? Shaking her head, Jude searched the contents of Alana's dresser, looking for a nightgown. The room around her pulsed, raising her anxiety to new heights. She hated it when the walls seemed to take life like that. She hunched her shoulders and steeled herself for the ghostly echo in her mind, but this time the clammy shadow fingers didn't penetrate her skull.

The fact she wasn't seeing any of the clothes she touched didn't register. Tom Quincy could be creepy when he wanted, and he could make her angrier than anybody she remembered, even her mother.

Now he had her caged and shackled. If she left, she'd never own the Aidan Heart. If she failed to convince Jamie she was Alana, she'd lose too. With an impotent groan, she closed the drawer and went on to the next.

Did Tommy know Alana was dead and not merely missing? Was that why her performance was so important to him? If he did know, how had he acquired the knowledge? Firsthand? And why was there no police investigation into the matter? Was his influence that strong?

But he needed Alana alive to earn the trust money. He wouldn't have killed her until after it reverted to her.

Jude stopped short. "Listen to you!"

She shook her head and dipped her hands once more into the luxurious folds of silk filing Alana's drawers. Her hands hit something hard. She lifted them and found a leather folder. Curiosity got the best of her. She pulled the snap and drew out the legal document folder trapped inside.

Divorce papers.

When she noticed the date, the sheets quivered. Four and a half weeks ago. Wasn't that when Alana had disappeared" Jude quickly refolded the document and stuffed it into the folder, willing her mind to stop buzzing with unanswered questions, willing the fear and doubts zipping through her veins to stop their frantic race. It didn't matter. It wasn't any of her business. She was just playing a role–for the Aidan Heart, and nothing else.

She didn't have to get involved. She didn't want to. She couldn't

But she was.

She snatched a silk kimono-style bathrobe from the wardrobe and headed for the bathroom. A warm shower dulled her fears and doubts, and brought the drowsiness of dinner back. For good measure she secured both the bathroom lock and her bedroom door.

Wearing Alana's perfumed robe, wandering the perimeter of Alana's room, pretending to love Alana's husband gave her a queer feeling of inadequacy. She tried to shrug it off, but it stuck like cobwebs in an old attic as Alana's imposing ghost traipsed invisibly behind her.

"It's an act," she reminded herself. She didn't have to fell beautiful, she didn't have to feel like the mistress of the house, she didn't have to feel in love; she only had to pretend.

She punched the satin-covered pillow and covered herself with the cold satin sheets. But when she closed her eyes, gray squally seas drowned her mind with the uneasy feeling it would take a long, long while before she forgot the magnetic appeal of Tom Quincy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tommy couldn't sleep. As he twisted and turned in his bed, all he could think of was Jude and the way her small hand had lovingly stroked the dark blue of his sheets this afternoon. He needed her here now, to sweep away the haunting loneliness of the winter night. A loneliness that hadn't bothered him until he'd seen her on his bed, looking for all the world as if she belonged there.

He could still see her eyes, vague and distant, her thoughts lost somewhere in the depths of her daydream. Had she been thinking. As he was, of their bodies entwined beneath the soft heap of bedclothes?

He jumped from his bed and grabbed his navy bathrobe from the post. Tightening the belt around his waist, he paced the length of his room, feeling every one of his muscles contract and extend with each motion of his limbs. He rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension. He rolled his head. He blew out a long breath and dragged in a slow one.

Nothing worked.

He needed her. He wanted her with every fiber of his body. Wanted her like he never wanted anyone. Wanted her with a fierceness that scared him.

A woman could take away a man's power faster than anything else.

He shouldn't want her.

He shouldn't need her.

He couldn't afford it.

An irresistible impulse propelled him across the bathroom. He found her bedroom door locked, and reached beneath the mirrored tray for a key. Then he was in her room.

He hesitated, listening. The wind threw flecks of wet snow against the window, landing in soft plops, then sliding to the bottom of the pane in a curved heap. The wind moaned balefully around the house. Funny, he'd never thought of this place as sad before. Yet now, the wind seemed to cry an echo of his empty soul.

The sleepy rhythm of her breath caught his attention. His reluctant attraction drew him closer and closer to her bed.

Her hair fanned out on the cream silk pillow like a lion's mane. One hand curled in a soft C next to her cheek, the other lay peacefully atop the emerald coverlet. The deep V of the pink robe exposed the creamy sides of her firm breasts, making him hungry for a taste. Her parted mouth telegraphed an invitation to kiss.

Of its own volition, his thumb reached out to gently stroke the soft skin of her lips. He ignored the tremors running rampant through his body as he remembered the tempest that had flared fast and furious through him when he'd held her, the lightning that still sparked between them.

When she sighed, he snatched his hand away and watched as the cream-colored sheet and emerald coverlet rose and fell with each of her breaths. Her head turned. A strand of hair fell across her face. He pushed it aside, feeling the smooth skin beneath his index finger.

A slow anger intertwined with the basic instincts of a man long denied.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

He couldn't have her.

Not now.

Not ever.

A faint whimper escaped her. Her eyelids fluttered with the mad movements of a dreamer dreaming. Dark shadows of distress slipped across her innocent face. Her head turned again. Her eyebrows bunched. Fear sped her breaths raggedly through her parted lips.

Fear. Yes, she had a right to fear him. He'd do her no good. Acquiring the trust was the most important thing in his life now. He needed it to continue his work, to save his life and his brother's, to assure that his sister didn't pass on the inherited mutant gene to any of her future sons, to help all the others inflicted with this dreaded degenerative disease. He would sacrifice anything to find the cure. Hadn't he paid a hefty price already for his choices? They'd caged him into a loveless marriage. They'd cost him his funding. And if he didn't find a solution soon, they could cost him his future. Yes, it was much better that she fear him because love, his love, would poison her life just as it had poisoned Alana's, and he couldn't bear to see those sapphire blue eyes look at him with hatred.

His dreams were grounded in reality, in his vision for a brighter future for all, not in fantasy. He had to remember that. In two weeks, she'd be gone, and everything could go back as it was.

Anger rose. A deep, disturbing anger that shook him to the core. Damn Alana and her tricks. Damn Jude and her irresistible appeal.

With numb, trance like movements, he turned toward his room, feeling as if he'd just condemned himself to hell on earth.


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Jude's heart pounded savagely against her ribs. Mad images flickered against the screen of her lids. She was dreaming, she knew, but couldn't seem to escape the disjointed vision playing itself before her.

Chanting, black-robed monks queued in an endless row, slowly circled the crosses in the courtyard. The dying sun bled the crosses red, and the forest's shadowy backdrop disappeared in a thick, rolling fog. A woman appeared from nowhere in the middle of the circle, her pasty, blank face zombie like in the fading light, her dark hair a sharp contrast to the flowing white of the dress she wore. Then she lay suspended in midair, levitated by some unseen strings above the ground.

The chanting increased. Growing louder and louder, stronger and stronger, with each beat of her pulse. A long, silver blade gleamed in the last speck of sun. And as the last ray of light buried itself beneath the horizon, the blade fell.

The woman's body jerked once.

Her death-dulled eyes opened, turning toward Jude. Her blood-red lips moved.

"Beware the monk," she said, her voice flat and hollow.

Then her eyes rolled back into her skull. The knife rose again. But his time the sharp, blood-tainted tip headed toward the dreamer. Just before it sliced her throat, the picture against Jude's lids splintered.

Jude's eyes snapped open. She jerked up, gasping as her hand reached for her heart. Fear-streaked sweat ran between her breasts. She glimpsed a shadow moving stealthily across the room. It disappeared into the wall. She rubbed her eyes with disbelief. It had been a dream, hadn't it? Yet she could have sworn the shadow wore a long, black-hooded habit.

A scream rose from deep inside and lodged in her dry throat, refusing to take shape. A manic thought infiltrated her brain, rooted and grew like Jack's magical beanstalk. It twisted and turned, encroaching on logic with its insidious branches until its tenacious fingers gripped her mind in its evil prison, forcing her to face what she'd wanted to deny.

Alana had disappeared.

Tommy knew she wouldn't be back.

The papers she'd found this evening beneath the silk of Alana's drawer, formed the perfect motive. With the divorce, he'd lose the trust fund. Was a missing wife still a wife in the eyes of the law? But he'd taken care of that with a stand-in, hadn't he?

Too clever, too sharp.

The ghost of her dream had warned her.

Alana was dead.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hiding behind his morning paper, Tommy tried to ignore Jude's entrance, tried to ignore the speeding of his blood through his veins, the yearnings tugging at his heart.

Except for the way she wore her hair, this morning Jude looked every bit as elegant as Alana. A barrette clipped her hair in a ponytail. Tommy itched to set it free, to see the strands ripple with light in the morning sun. The cinnamon-colored dress she wore stretched to cling to Jude's enticing curves the way they never had to Alana's angles. She'd draped a gold and emerald scarf artfully around her waist to disguise the tight fit of the dress, and wore a pair of heavy gold earrings he'd given Alana for their third anniversary. They drew attention to the golden life of Jude's skin. He thought of sun and heat and cleared his throat, slanting his attention back to the paper in his hand before he got burned. Even her scent matched Alana's, causing a caustic ripple in his stomach. His spine stiffened as suspicion crawled along his skin. She's not Alana, he reminded himself.

"Good morning," she said, taking the chair next to his.

Her voice spread through him like warmed molasses, thick and sweet. He grumbled an answer.

Valentin squeaked his cart to the sideboard and unloaded several silver-domed platters onto it.

"I need to go to town today." Jude said.

He frowned at her over the edge of his paper.

"Why?"

"I need a few amenities. I may be playing Alana and be stuck trying to fit into her too tight clothes for now, but I draw the line at using her toothbrush. Besides, we had an agreement. I can visit Gram every few days."

For the first time in months, he felt a genuine smile wanting to erupt over his lips, but didn't allow it. "Valentin, make sure Speid readies Alana's car." He returned his attention to the business pages of the Boston Sunday Globe to keep his seesawing emotions under control.

"Non, monsieur." Valentin poured a cup of coffee from the silver carafe on the sideboard and placed it in front of him.

Tommy dropped his hands, folding the newspaper like an imploding building. Had the whole world turned against him? "Valentin?"

"The roads, monsieur, they are impassible. The village plow was never fixed after the last snow. It will be a day or so before a private truck can come this far out."

"Who's leaving?" Jamie asked as he walked into the room.

"No one apparently." Tommy bristled inwardly at Jamie's appearance. His sense of timing was impeccable as always. Like a hound on a scent, Jamie was looking for traces of deceit, for any excuse to revert the trust to Darius. Tommy had long suspected the reason, but there was no hard evidence, and until he could find some, he was at jamie's mercy.

He glanced at Jude as she sipped a glass of orange juice. He'd provided a decoy, but he was quickly learning he couldn't control her behavior. He'd have to hope Jamie and Jude's meetings were few and far between, and that he was always present to avert disaster.

"Where were you planning on going, my dear?" Jamie asked. Curiosity bordered with an inquisition-like command tinged his voice. He lifted each silver dome on the sideboard and inspected the fare below.

"Shopping." Jude improvised. She glanced at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Tommy silently warned her to watch her step. But defiance lifted her shoulders and tilted her chin up. A ripple of apprehension raced through him. Tommy held his breath as he lifted his paper once more, steeling himself for the unfolding scene, feeling his control over the situation slip like water through a fist.

"I need a new dress for the fete," Jude added. "And I'm in a shopping mood today."

"I've never known a woman who wasn't." Jamie poured himself a glass of orange juice, dropped dry toast on a plate and added a slice of melon before seating himself at the table.

"Coffee, madame?" Valentin asked.

"Please."

She whispered her answer as if she needed the caffeine to jump-start her day. What kind of nightmare had caused her face to contort in sheer horror last night? Had she slept any after waking up from her dark dream? The dark circles beneath her eyes said no. He'd heard her switch on her light, heard her pace. The light had still been on a dawn when he'd woke after a restless sleep. He'd half expected her to put an end to their bargain and leave. Her decision to stay pleased him more than he cared to admit. For his research's sake, he rationalized.

Carafe in hand, Valentin turned to Jamie. "Monsieur?"

"Tea. Darjeeling." Jamie never looked up as he picked seeds from his cantaloupe with disdain. Some things never change. Tommy had always wondered why Jamie thought of himself more as one of the family than an employee.

With a haughty lift of his eyebrows and shake of his head behind Jamie's back, Valentin duck-walked to fill the lawyer's request. Jude suppressed her laugh with a sip of coffee, and Tommy with a bite of his tongue. He agreed wholeheartedly with Valentin's attitude.

"How did you sleep in our humble home?" Jude asked Jamie a little too brightly to sound natural as she slipped into her role as hostess.

"Like the dead." Jamie stared at her for a full minute before his mustache twitched into a smile. Tommy saw a shudder in recognition that Jamie suspected something. He had to get them apart before Jude tripped. Valentin shuffled in again, teapot in hand.

"Is Harry here?" Tommy asked curtly, folding his paper then placing it on the corner of the table. Harry was reliable, but would the boy trudge through the snow from his house in the village to take care of the horses after such a heavy storm?

"I do not know, monsieur," Valentin answered. "He has not come to the kitchen yet."

Tommy pushed his chair away and rose. "I'll go see to the horses, then."

He stopped by Jude's chair, touched her arm firmly, bracing against the lightning that sparked between them. "Care to come?"

He'd said it like a command, not an invitation, and she didn't miss the authority behind the question. She swallowed hard and gingerly placed her cup on the saucer. "I'd love to."

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. The quote floated through his mind. He wished he'd never had to start this farce. But he had no choice. His vision for the future was more important than his temporary discomfort. And now that Alana had forced him into fraud, he had to follow through.

Jamie watched them go, and Tommy felt the first knot snag in his web of lies. He'd caught himself. He'd made a mistake.

The real Alana hated horses.

Jamie knew it.

**A/N– Thanks for all the reviews! Some of you really crack me up, I love it! I'm glad you like my story. I really hope that it's not as confusing as it was at first. If so, just stick with me, it will make sense. As for the monks...they are not "real" as in apart of the story, just the history of them and the monastery. Thanks again...enjoy! **


	10. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

"I think Jamie suspects something." Jude said to Tommy as she followed him out into the thick snow. Her nightmare had almost caused her to change her mind about staying, but eventually logic had won over emotion. He needed her until the fete. She was safe until then. But Jamie's suspicions could change everything.

"He wouldn't if you didn't make it so obvious you're uncomfortable here." Tommy's voice sounded brittle, like the thin ice over a puddle in early fall.

"You told me to act naturally. I did." She slipped on a patch of ice beneath the snow. Tommy caught her elbow before she fell all the way to her rear, and let her go as soon as she'd regained her balance.

"Perhaps if you toned down the overly happy hostess act." "Well, perhaps if you'd tell me more about Alana, I could act in a way that pleases Your Majesty," she said., mimicking his pinched tone. He could make her spitting mad without trying. "What do you expect from me?"

He gave her one of his queer looks that seemed to see through all the locked doors in her mind. "The impossible."

He surged on ahead, and Jude followed, frustration swirling an acid in her stomach. Despite the bitterly cold wind blowing outside, the inside of the stable was warm and cozy. The sweet smell of hay and the clean scent of leather filled Jude's nostrils as she stepped into the fieldstone building. Soft nickers from three horses greeted them, and Tommy's face underwent a transformation. The lines erased themselves from his eyes, his mouth and forehead, taking years off his strained expression. And his smile as he greeted each horse in turn took her breath away.

Upon hearing the commotion of their entrance, a boy of about thirteen poked his straw-berry-blond head over one of the small doors.

"Hey, Tommy!"

"You're here, Harry. How did you make it past all the snow?"

The tall and skinny youth smiled and pointed at the cross-country skis leaning against the wall. "Glide-power."

"Good for you!"

"It would take more than a little snow to keep me from Cloud." The boy eyed the large white horse with love, and the gentleness of his touch on the horse's neck echoed the tenderness in his voice. He looked like a rangy colt himself, all legs and arms and unbounded energy.

"How's school going?" Tommy scratched the mare behind the ear, but she bumped his arm away and muzzled his hand. From his pocket, he produced a section of carrot, and the horse crunched it greedily.

"Excellent. You'll see. I'll have the best report card you ever saw." The boy patted Cloud's obviously pregnant side. "You'll lose your bet."

"I certainly hope so. I don't have time to take care of a foal this year." Tommy chuckled, and once more Jude found her breath halted by the joyful sound. He glanced at her. "When was the last time you went on a sleigh ride?"

"I don't think I've ever been."

"Care to try?"

Alone? With you? A strange yearning lodged itself low in her stomach. Food poisoning? Certainly not Tommy's smile. She wasn't that easily swayed.

"It would give us a chance to talk," he said as if sensing her hesitation.

"I'd love to." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He turned back to Harry. "Can you help me get Cirrus and Nimbus ready for a sleigh ride?"

"Sure thing."

Harry stared at her for a minute before turning his gaze away with a fiery blush burning his face. Tommy had said Alana never ventured into the village. Had she not made it as far as the stables? What kind of life had Tommy and Alana shared? The mystery grew thicker and thicker.

The boy mumbled a greeting, then hurried out of the stall and hung his pitchfork on the wall. He snagged a bucketful of brushes to groom the horse in the far stall.

Tommy took the second bucket and headed for the first stall. The dappled-gray horse pawed and nickered with anticipation, and on cue a treat appeared from Tommy's pocket.

"Easy, Nimbus." Tommy's deep chuckle swelled Jude's heart with its genuine warmth, confusing her further.

The horses were groomed and harnessed , then taken outside where a sleigh waited. Jude watched the whole process in utter amazement. How could one man be so different from one moment to the next? In the house, he'd seemed weighed by some unknown burden--guilt, more than likely. But out here, the load had lifted completely. Could guilt be disposed of so easily? For the first time since her nightmare, she wondered if she hadn't judged him too hastily. Could someone else have murdered Alana? Was Tommy's brooding darkness due to the loss of his wife? Yet, when he spoke of her, there seemed to be no love lost between husband and wife. But then, who else had a motive to murder Alana? What would she find as she peeled away the layers of this rotten onion?

Tommy helped her onto the sleigh's leather seat and tucked a quilt around her legs to keep her warm. Nimbus snorted and pawed one of his forefeet while the other horse stood patiently.

"Easy, Nimbus. We'll get going soon enough." Tommy picked up the reins and nodded to Harry, who released his hold on the bridle. Nimbus reared, but didn't get far. Cirrus nipped him into order. The horse puffed clouds of warm breath into the cold air with his impatient snort. Jude gasped, grabbing the side of the sleigh and one of Tommy's forearms to keep her balance.

"Nimbus is just a baby," Tommy said, turning to Jude and chuckling. "He's still learning the ropes and tends to get a little excited. But don't worry, Cirrus will keep him in line. He's an old hand at this." He jiggled the reins. "Giddy up!"

The ride possessed a strange air of unreality. It was like being transported to a fairyland. The sun shone on a wide expanse of virgin snow bordered on all sides by snow-laden evergreens. Dry flakes lifted by the soft wind sparkled around them like jeweled dust. The sleigh bells on the horses' harness, the swish of runners below them and the clomp of horses' hooves sounded happy. At the edge of the woods, a deer warily watched them go by, but didn't run, as if it knew that today no harm could possibly come to it. Birds dipped and flew above for the sheer pleasure of being alive.

"Tell me about yourself," Tommy said, breaking the easy silence between them.

"There's not much to say. I have a brother. He runs a flight school in Nashua. My mother is dead. And my father is hibernating in Florida."

"How did your mother die?"

"Liver failure." Her bitter childhood soured her thoughts for an instant, then she pushed it aside. Because of her Grandmother, she'd survived, and she'd rather dwell on the happiness she'd found at Gram's house than the nightmare she'd lived at home.

"Sorry to hear that." Tommy said, sincere in his apology.

"It's just one of those things," she said, shrugging. "I had Gram. She was a no-nonsense type of person with the energy of three." She smiled. "And the gift of gab. She could weave stories…"

"Don't stop."

She never talked about her family, yet Tommy's relaxed charm and gentle questions had her spilling her guts, telling him about Gram and the magical summers she'd spent at her house. Was it because of the sunshine and the hypnotic rhythm of the sleigh bells?

"She sounds like a special lady," Tommy said.

"She is."

The shadows on Tommy's face had stayed behind as if they'd belonged to the house, and here out in the boundaryless outdoors, he could slip his guard and relax.

"How about you, do you have a family?" she asked him, fearing if either stopped talking for too long the magic would end. She wanted this precious morning of sun-dappled snow, sleigh bells and Tommy's dimpled smile to last forever.

"A brother and a sister. My parents are dead."

"How did they die?"

The muscle by his jaw tightened.

"My father died of a degenerative disease. My mother of a broken heart."

She worried the blanket's edge with her gloved fingers. "That's so sad. Are you close to your brother and sister?"

"Not particularly."

"Why not?"

He frowned and she thought he wouldn't answer.

"There's too much between us."

She wanted to say something that would heal the wound the torn relationships seemed to cause. Usually she would know exactly what to say, but today words came in floods or droughts, and she seemed stranded in a particularly arid patch.

He pointed to a spot near the forest's edge. "if you come out early enough in the spring, you can see does and their fawns graze here." A little further out, he drove to the top of a rise. "There's a watercolor artist who's well known for the landscapes she paints from this vantage point." He dipped down to a spot near the river where two stout oaks stood guard. "I like to walk here in the summer. It's a great spot to think when I'm stuck for an answer in my research. I keep thinking that one of these days I'll install a hammock between those trees."

Jude hadn't expected this softer side to him, hadn't known it could exist in his hard man.

As they skirted the village, heading toward the monastery once more, she looked at Tommy's face as he spoke of the Ste-Croix, entranced by the warmth his voice held. "The village has managed to hold its own in the last few years. The Planning Committee has been able to revive a few of the dying arts, brought tourists and a few businesses in. Some kids are even staying now, instead of running to the city the first chance they get. It's been--"

He stopped mid-sentence and gave her a quizzical look. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jude said, shaking her head. She shifted her gaze to the countryside, afraid the nascent feelings she didn't quite understand would show through. Maybe she was getting sick after all. How else could she explain the weak feeling in her knees, the uncharacteristic trembling of her fingers, the heat and need flushing her skin all over? "It's all so beautiful. Thank you for taking me along."

He stopped the horses and looked at her with his stormy eyes abrew. His hand reached for a loose strand of her hair with a leather-covered finger, and tucked it back into her woolen cap. Her breath stuck in her throat, making her uncomfortably aware of her speeding pulse.

"Thank you for coming."

His voice was almost a whisper and replete with tenderness. Her mouth opened, her captive breath escaped. His hand slipped to her nape. He pulled her forward. She melted toward him like snow under the spring sun. And when his lips touched hers, her skin sizzled, awakening a soul-deep hunger she'd hidden all her life.

He pulled her closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back willingly. His woodsy scent intoxicated her. His heady taste besotted her. His touch warmed her like nothing had since she'd arrived at the monastery.

Tommy broke off their connection abruptly and took up the slack reins. Clucking to the horses, he set them into motion.

"Don't ever change," he said, his voice filled with melancholy.

She didn't know if she had heard him right over the sleigh bells' noise. Her lips tingled as ice crystals formed a protective layer over his brand. Every nerve in her body hummed with frustrated need. And a sinking feeling weighed her heart to the bottom of her boots.

Something was definitely wrong with her. She, Jude Harrison, had never before succumbed to mad impulses when it came to men, and here amid the magic of snow, sunshine and sleigh bells, she feared she could lose her heart to a man who would never love her.

A married man at that.

_You're not his wife. You're playing a part._

The thought lingered in her mind, creating a sadness so heavy she thought it would crush her.

She swallowed hard and concentrated on the eerie beauty of the winter landscape. Wrong, wrong, wrong, she tried to convince herself. This strange feeling was all wrong. It wasn't real. She was under the spell of the day. A beautiful, magical day of fairy-tale quality. Like Gram's stories. Might as well enjoy it, because days like this never lasted very long. The summers never had.

With a resigned sigh, she settled on admiring the countryside and stuffed Tommy's nerve-tingling kiss and ache in her heart into the tight little box in the corner of her mind where she kept all the things she didn't want to think about.

Safer that way, much safer.

Children's laughter and playful shrieks came from nearby. Half dozen children skating on a cleared section of ice. In the distance stood the quaintest covered bridge. Red in the sunshine with sparkling snow on its roof, it look exactly like a postcard should.

"Oh look! Where does the bridge lead? Can we go over it?"

"No."

The shortness of his answer took her by surprise. Her head snapped back to look at him, while her mouth hung aghast. His eyes seemed to have retreated into his skull, hiding their squally silver beneath heavy black shadows. His smile disappeared into a narrow, disapproving slash, and the icy lines of stress returned to sculpt his face.

What on earth happened to cause the change? Happy children playing on the ice? It didn't make sense.

He stared at the bridge for a long moment, his jaw tensing until she thought it would break, as if he desperately tried to control building anger. Suddenly, he slapped the horses' backs with the reins, and they broke into a canter, calm Cirrus neighing in protest, Nimbus bucking in objection. Jude hung on to the side of the sleigh for fear of falling out. Even the sleigh bells' sound changed from cheery jingles to cautious jangles. He brought the horses to a sharp halt by the river and jumped out, handing her the reins to hold.

"Whoa," Jude said shakily to the horses, hanging on with white-knuckled force to the thin leather straps while Nimbus pawed and nodded his head

"Tommy!"

"Get off the ice!" Tommy shouted to the children when he reached the bank.

The startled children stopped instantly and stared up at him.

Nimbus's head jerked up. His eyes fixed on the forest's edge and grew wide. His nostrils flared. His skin quivered.

"Whoa," Jude encouraged again. Her heart beat faster. Her mouth grew dry. She tried to look at the spot holding the horse's interest without moving her head. _Please, please stay calm. _She pulled on the reins tighter. Shadows fluttered menacingly at the edge of her vision, and her adrenaline-soaked brain formed them into flowing black monks' robes. She turned her head for an instant, but saw nothing, except the dark branches of evergreens swaying in the breeze.

"Whoa," Jude pleaded as Nimbus's fearful glances kept searching the darkness between the trees, and his antics increased. She fervently hoped Cirrus would steady his teammate, because there was no way she could handle two tons of thundering horses.

"Get off the ice before one of you falls through and drowns," Tommy shouted.

"It's solid, see!" the oldest girl said, and knocked the back of her blade against the hard slab, throwing chunks of ice into the air to prove her point.

"Off _now_ before I call your parents. It's not safe. _Go!"_

Tommy's booming voice rent the air like a whip. With a fearful whinny, Nimbus took off. Cirrus nipped him. Nimbus shook his head and dragged Cirrus with him. The force of the horses' forward jerk slammed Jude back into the seat, knocking the wind out of her. Her scream stuck, silent in her throat.

"Pull the reins!" Tommy's command came to her on the wind.

Jude regained her balance. She pulled on the reins, but Nimbus stuck his head straight up, loosening her hold on them.

"Help me!"

The horses gained speed. The icy wind slapped her cheeks, narrowing her vision. She had no control. Panic zigzagged through her veins.

"Jump!" Tommy ordered.

Was he crazy? At this speed, she'd break her neck! The trees on the opposite side of the clearing neared. The horses would either plow through them before they could slow down, or swerve around them. Neither situation looked too promising for her health.

"Jump, Jude!" Tommy's voice grew louder. Leather creaked. Runners hissed. The trees came closer and closer.

She was going to die. She just knew it.

**--**

**A/N- Sorry it took me so long once again for those of you that read my last story, I get hung up and then life just simply gets in the way. I hope I haven't lost too many readers...**


	11. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Jude didn't want to die. With one hand, she grabbed at the quilt tangled over her legs. She tugged and tugged, but couldn't get it free. With a frightened whimper, she let go the useless reins and freed her legs. Drawing up her courage with a breath, she closed her eyes and pushed herself off the out-of-control sleigh.

"Umph!" She landed hard on the snow, but remembered to roll to break the fall's impact. Ending up on hands and knees, she watched the sleigh fall sideways as the horses turned sharply to avoid the trees. The crack of the splintering seat as it caught trunk after trunk before bobbing impotently behind the fleeing horses reverberated through the forest like a knell of doom.

Her gaze fixed on a piece of black leather with its white stuff sticking out, lying in the snow. One more second and she would have still been sitting on that seat. If she hadn't jumped, she could be in the same condition.

Tommy raced up behind her. He knelt before her and took her face in his hands. She saw fear and concern in his eyes as he looked her over.

"Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride," she said, regaining her breath. And a bruise or two. "I'm fine." But her body suddenly shook violently.

He clasped her hard against him and rocked her gently. "It's alright. You're fine. Everything's fine now." As he stroked her back, his hand trembled. "It's over."

She didn't know how long they stayed there, kneeling in the cold snow. She knew only she didn't want him to let her go. If he took his arms away, she feared she would break to pieces as the sleigh's seat had.

The shivers finally died away and Tommy loosened his possessive grip.

"I lost my hat," she said, latching on to the concrete in order to avoid falling apart. She touched a strand of loose hair. "And my barrette. My brother gave it to me last Christmas. I--I'd better find it." She tamped the snow with her hands, feeling the cold crystals melt against her wrists.

Tommy grabbed her arms and pulled up. "We'll find it. I promise." He smoothed her hair from her face and looked deep into her eyes. "I have to go check on the horses. Will you be all right?"

Jude nodded, unable to talk. She sat back on her heels and hugged her knees with her arms, biting her lower lip to keep herself from crying.

The horses had come full circle to their departure point near the bridge. They waited, puffing huge white clouds with every breath. "I'll be right back."

He shooed the children gawking at the scene from the bank. As they ran over the bridge to the snow-filled lane beyond it, their skates bounced on their backs. Tommy ran his hands over the beasts' legs, checked their flanks for damage, then unhitched the broken sleigh. As he led the horses toward her, Nimbus limped noticeably.

"We'll have to double on Cirrus," he said, halting a generous distance away.

"No." Jude shook her head, felt the shivers return in full force and rubbed her arms for warmth. She didn't want to go anywhere near a horse for a long time. "I can't."

"You'll be fine. I'll be right behind you. Nimbus is hurt. I can't leave him behind. And i can't leave you here, you'll catch your death."

"I can't." She shook her head.

Tommy let go the reins, scooped her up unceremoniously from her crumpled spot in the snow and placed her fairly on the gelding's back.

"No!" Before she could jump back down, he vaulted behind her and held her in place between the harness and his hard body.

"We'll take it nice and easy," he cooed softly in her ear, preventing further protest.

An involuntary shiver shook her body. He drew his arm tighter around her. His thighs flexed and the horse moved forward; the other followed behind, connected by a long rein to Tommy's hand. Jude grabbed a fistful of mane to hold her balance. He pressed her body against his. The slow, relaxed motion of his body with the horse's movements calmed her. She allowed her head to drop back on his chest, and found it fit perfectly beneath his chin.

Then a different kind of panic filled her heart. The rhythmic thrust of Tommy's body against hers created a longing she'd sworn she'd never give in to again. A drugging, insistent yearning she knew would only lead to pain swelled like a blister. She stiffened when she felt his answering need through her coat against her tailbone and leaned away from him, placing a breath of space between them.

"The kids were having such fun skating," Jude said. A snap of anger burst inside. It flared into fury, against him for confusing her, against herself for caring.

"Did you have to send them away?"

"The river is fed by a mountain stream." His voice dripped icicles. "The icing is irregular. It's never safe. They know it."

"That doesn't excuse your rudeness. What's wrong with you, anyway? You yelled at those kids as if they'd committed a major crime."

"No one should have to go through the grief of loss when it can so easily be prevented."

"As opposed to leaving a completely clueless woman handling two giant horses?"

His arms tensed around her. "I.."

"And, and..." She grasped for thoughts, barely listening to his responses. Anything to forget the wave of unwanted desire cresting through the terror of her fall, which still rippled through her. "You looked at that bridge as if the devil himself lived under it."

"Maybe he does." His chin lifted and his head turned slightly in the direction of the bridge. "We've lost six children there in the past four years."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." A wave of cold rolled through her. The sun seemed to agree; it slipped beneath a cloud and drab snow started falling like frozen tears.

When they neared the edge of the woods, Nimbus stopped and snorted. His eyes grew wide. He crowded into Cirrus's side, shoving the older horse aside. Jude stiffened at the unexpected movement. She bit her lower lip to stop herself from whimpering.

"Whoa, Nimbus. What's the matter, boy?"

Tommy turned both horses to face the unseen enemy hiding in the darkness of the woods. Jude hung on to Cirrus's mane with both fists.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"He sees something."

"That's what happened when he took off with the sleigh." Her fear showed through her shaky voice, but she didn't care. She couldn't take another runaway ride. "Please Tommy, don't let him take off again."

"We'll take it nice and easy. We'll show him there's nothing in the shadows and he'll be fine. Won't you, boy?"

Nimbus's ear flicked from the woods to Tommy and back. Icy nuggets of snow ticked against their coats, against the trunks and branches. Wicked wind wailed across the trees, sounding like a low, eerie chant the monks had vocalized in her dream. all around them, the sighs and whispers spoke of unnamed horrors and undefinable sins. The air grew cold. Shadows shifted. Like a stealthy predator, something black and shapeless swirled closer.

Nimbus started to back.

"Whoooa..." Tommy steadied the horse with his voice. "It's alright."

The wind-driven object skipped and scurried, twisted and turned.

Nimbus snorted. Jude shivered.

"It's alright," Tommy said. she wasn't sure if he was addressing the horse or her, but his soft, steady voice gave her a measure of comfort. "Everything's fine. Take a good look."

The dark spectar caught on a gnarled knuckle of root. It tugged. It wrenched. Then like a flag, it unfurled and revealed itself.

The base of Jude's neck prickled with sudden foreboding.

_Beware._

The warning echoed eerily in her mind, scattering shivers up and down her arms.

Black against the snow sprawled the desolate shell of a monk's habit.

--

_Danger_. It floated all around him and there was nothing Tommy could do to control it.

Where had the monk's habit come from? What was it doing in the middle of nowhere" Had the horses' mad race been deliberate, or a freak twist of fate?

Then there was Jude.

Kissing her had been like tasting spring after a long, bitter winter. Tommy thought as he watched her run back to the house. Snowflakes melted in his hair and ran cold drops down his neck. He was starting to realize what a harsh winter it had been living with Alana.

Watching the sensual movements of Jude's running body, his desire for her grew again. A deep, ache pined in his heart. He slicked away the melted snow, running like tears down his face. He wanted the winter to end.

At the sharp slam of the door, taking her from his sight, he turned away and led the horses into the barn.

Jude was scared. He couldn't blame her. Better that way--for her. Distance would protect her. Better for him; he couldn't afford the distraction.

He led Cirrus to his stall and closed him in without unpacking him, then turned his attention to Nimbus in the cross-ties. Alana and Jude were alike, he reminded himself as he bent over Nimbus's leg. Alana had loved the things he could give her more than she'd loved him. Jude wanted only the Aidan Heart from this deal. Hadn't he bribed her with the glass to stay?

Foolish woman.

Nimbus nuzzled his pocket for a treat. Tommy patted the neck of the horse, while he crunched on a carrot. "She should run like the devil, Nimbus. I have a feeling we'll both lose if she stays. No piece of glass is worth that much."

But his research was, and so he wouldn't chase her away.

Tommy whipped a bandage from the tack-room shelf and proceeded to clean and wrap Nimbus's injured leg. Today he'd nearly lost Jude. The savage helplessness he'd he'd felt as he'd watched her nearly crash into the trees had brought a new definition to fear. Had he ever cared that deeply for Alana? He didn't care to explore that line of thought. Jude had almost died because he'd lost his temper over that blasted bridge...a constant reminder of Alana's infidelity.

The cold tentacle of danger reached for him again, wrapping around his soul like a needful thing.

As with the last part of the formula that wouldn't fall into place, he felt he'd missed something important. Something right under his nose.

Anger, deep and primal, rumbled low inside him. He led Nimbus to his stall and closed the animal in. As the tongue fit in the groove, the half door's latch hissed.

His precious control was slipping.


	12. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The plow had finally found its way to the monastery on Sunday night. Monday morning, when Jude announced her intention to go to Nashua. Tommy didn't stop her. though she'd spent the afternoon talking to Gram, there had been no sign of recognition in her eyes. The doctor had tried to reassure her by telling her the medicines were keeping Gram groggy, but she'd had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and prayed all the way home Gram hang on longer.

After Jude returned to the monastery, she found a box on her bed. She opened her suitcase first, and sighed with relief at hte sight of her own clothes. She shrugged out of Alana's dress and slipped on a soft, cream-colored angora sweater and a pair of black wool pants. Valentin had provided her with a few personal amenities, but it was nice to have her own things. She burrowed through the contents of the suitcase, and saw Claire had packed all her favorite things, including her own worn but cozy flannel bathrobe. And bless her heart, Claire had included a large Cadbury's milk chocolate bar with hazelnuts and raisins--her favorite.

About to dig into the rich chocolate, Jude put the bar in the dresser drawer instead. She'd save it for later.

The box that had been sitting on her bed bore a label from an exclusive dress shop in Boston.

Curious, she opened it. In the folds of tissue, she found a ball dress fit for a queen. Except for its too-frilly neckline and blood-red color, the dress was exquisite. Standing in front of the mirror, Jude placed the dress before her and sighed dejectedly.

"What's wrong?"

Tommy's voice startled her. With a gasp she turned to face him. She was turning into a jumpy bundle of raw nerves. His unexpected presence and direct gaze had her feeling very exposed despite the barrier of wool protecting her.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were in your office."

"You don't like the dress?" he asked, ignoring her question, and leaned nonchalantly against the open bathroom door.

"The dress is perfect," Jude said, throwing it on the bed with a sharp snap of her wrist. "A perfect size six." With both hands she motioned to her hips.

"Which obviously, I'm not."

"Vince's wife is a seamstress. Take it to her and she'll alter it for you."

"You don't understand," Jude scoffed. "I'm not petite like Alana. I wear a size eight, sometimes ten. No one short of a fairy godmother could fix this dress to fit me."

"Have Karma Speiderman make you another."

"I don't think this is going to work." Jude sagged to the bed and buried her face in her hands. This role was too emotionally taxing, she wasn't equipped to handle this much emotion."

"Vince's wife is a fine seamstress."

"No, I mean your little charade." Her fingers raked through her hair. "I think Jamie is getting suspicious. He keeps asking me odd questions and looking at me strangely."

"I think you're overreacting." Shadows from the doorway played on Tommy's face, hiding his expression from her. "Jamie's eyesight isn't all that keen and he's too vain to wear glasses."

Leaning her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, she gave Tommy a sidelong look. "I think you're reading him wrong."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I think you're seeing ghosts where there aren't any."

"I wouldn't be so sure. Valentin seems to think the place is crawling with ghosts. He says this house has seen more than its share of death."

The lines on his face hardened once more. "Valentin talks too much."

Jude snorted. "If he talked any less, he could be mistaken for a walking skeleton."

At the risk of deepening his anger, Jude knew she had to ask questions he didn't want to answer. She got up and walked to where Tommy stood. She leaned on the opposite side of the door. "Talk to me, Tommy. Make me understand the kind of person Alana is."

His eyes narrowed and darkened like rain-laden clouds. "We've been over her history already."

"No, not the dry facts, not the outside--the inside, the soul. For my own protection, I need know."

Lightning seemed to flash in his dark eyes. "Your innocence is your protection."

"My innocence didn't protect me from nearly getting killed yesterday."

"It was an accident."

"I thought so too--until I saw the monk's habit."

He straightened sharply, came close to her, crowding her against the jamb's knife like edge. His naked anger flashed a vivid storm in his eyes. "I need you alive."

"Do you?" She didn't know why she egged him on. But she wanted to feel safe in this house that felt more like a tomb than a home. "Do you?"

His jaw twitched. His hands clawed into her shoulder. "I need a wife. Alive and well."

The sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach nearly floored her. "Did you ever love her?"

"Once upon a time." His fingers' harsh grasp eased.

"What happened?"

"People change." His hands slid back to his sides.

Jude growled her frustration. "Stop your damned double talk and answer me straight."

He leaned toward her until they faced each other nose to nose. "all right. She was heartless, selfish. She didn't have a soul. If she did, it belonged to the devil."

His anger rippled through her, but she refused to back away. "Why did she leave?"

"She didn't leave. She wanted to humiliate me. She never would have left without creating a scene first. There was too much hate festering in her soul for her to do any less."

His anger-heated breath against her face, the clear and deep hurt in his eyes, caused an unexpected softening in her heart. Jude swallowed hard. "Then where is she?"

"I don't know." He walked into the room and stood by the window, both hands stuck into his pants pockets.

"How convenient for you."

His gaze held her prisoner. His silence weakened her. The drips, pinging from the shower-head to the shower floor, drove her crazy.

"You really think I killed her."

Jude blushed, shrugged, and turned away from his piercing gaze. Tommy grabbed her shoulders and whipped her around to face him once more. "Look at me! What motive do I have to want her dead? i needed her alive until after the ball. If I wanted to harm her, I would have waited until then."

Jude shook her head and stared deep into the silver of his eyes. "But she is dead. I can feel it."

"Well, then, that settles it. Let's call the police and present them with this hard evidence. Jude, do you realize how crazy that sounds?"

She rolled her shoulders to free herself from his hold. "Not any crazier than a man who doesn't know where his own wife is and hires someone to replace her just so he can inherit a trust fund."

He raised one eyebrow, then swiped a hand through his hair. "I suppose you're right on that point. But think about it, Jude, why would I want to kill Alana?"

"I don't know. Maybe because she was planning on divorcing you. I found the divorce papers in her room."

He tensed. "it wouldn't have mattered. We had an agreement."

"There are so many secrets hiding behind all those locked doors. Who knows what other motive you could have? And if you didn't kill her, then what are you doing to find out what happened to her?"

"i'm doing all I can."

"Who else has a motive?"

"That, of course, is the million-dollar question. Her cousin Darius for one. Maybe even Jamie. Then there are her friends."

"Friends?"

"The men she used for her pleasure." Tommy dug his hand into his pocket and came out with a key ring. He took one odd-looking key from the ring and pressed it into her hand. "Come then. Let's alleviate your fears, dear curious Jude. This is the master key. We'll go through every room until you're satisfied I'm not keeping my dead wife's skeleton in any closet."

Jude turned the key over in her hand, inspecting its odd shape to avoid Tommy's gaze. "Tommy..."

With a finger, he lifted her chin. When he spoke, his voice was strangely gentle. "Would it do any good to deny I killed her?"

"I need to hear you say you didn't." Heat and longing spread through her limbs, leaving her mouth dry and her heart beating hard.

"Can't you trust me even a little?"

The wounded look in his eyes struck a chord of guilt, then one of sadness. "I couldn't even trust my own mother."

He let her go abruptly and shook his head. "You're making your own hell, you realize that, don't you?"

--

The next morning, Jude stood undecided at an intersection between two halls. She was startled at the sound of Jamie's voice behind her.

"Lost, my dear?"

"No, of course not." On her fourth day in the rambling house, she still manages to get lost, but Jamie's couldn't know that. "I just had an idea for the ball, and I can't decide whether to take care of it now or eat breakfast first."

"The brain works better on a full stomach." He eyed her curiously. She hated the way his mustache twitched at the corners when he smiled, as if he was privileged to some inside information. Maybe he was. The thought offered her no comfort.

"Breakfast it is, then." She hoped her smile didn't look as brittle as it felt.

"Allow me" He switched his briefcase from one hand to the other, offered her his elbow and guided her to the dinig room.

His arm was hard and yielding beneath her hand. Again she wondered if he suspected her to deceit, and what actions he might take to unmask her. Did she give him too much power because of the influence of his decision over the fund's dispersal? He was the family's trusted lawyer, but did he have a motive of his own to see Alana dead? Silently she chided herself. Her close call with death had her seeing monsters around every corner.

Once in the dining room, Jamie gulped a glass of orange juice and wrapped a lightly buttered English muffin in a paper napkin.

"You're not eating?" Jude asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee, emptying the carafe.

"No time." Jamie glanced at his pocket watch and frowned. "I have an appointment I can't miss."

"What kind of appointment?" Jude asked the question as if the answer held no interest to her, pretending instead that choosing between eggs and oatmeal was uppermost in her mind.

"Business. I want to tie everything up in a neat little bow before my vacation."

"How do you feel about Tommy?" She scooped up a portion of eggs onto a plate.

Jamie paused on his way to picking up the briefcase he'd dropped at his feet. "Why do you ask, my dear?"

"There's a tension between the two of you. I wish I understood it."

"T.Q. will not admit defeat even when it's plainly presented to him. All these years after his parents' deaths, he's still trying to make sense out of it. You should know. I'm sure it can't be easy living with him."

She dropped a piece of English muffin beside the small mound of scrambled eggs. "No, it's not. He keeps his feelings so tight inside, it makes me feel...

Well, I'm sure that's not what you want to hear."

"No, do go on."

She shrugged. "Sometimes, I wish things could be different." Which was close enough to the truth, whether she admitted it to herself or not. But wishes were for little girls, and she was a grown woman who should know better.

"We all do, my dear. But the past can't be erased and we must learn to play the cards life has dealt us." He picked up his briefcase. "Speaking of the devil, have you seen T.Q. this morning?"

"No, he was already gone by time I woke up. He was in a fool mood last night." She spooned up a measure of fruit salad and dropped it in a small bowl. "What did you two talk about all yesterday afternoon?"

"Dry, boring legalese, I'm afraid."

"Is there a problem with the trust?" Jude turned her head to watch his reaction. One cheek twitched up into a half smile like a jackal who'd found unattended prey.

"Not yet," he said. His implications of duplicity came through loudly with his direct gaze. Jude couldn't hold it steadily and concentrated instead on her breakfast selection.

She shrugged. "Oh well, I'm sure you two will figure everything out."

"I'm sure we shall."

Jamie turned to leave and nearly bumped straight into Tommy. "There you are, dear boy. I'm off to see Kwest. I'll be back for dinner."

The charged silence grew so thick and heavy, the scrape of Jude returning the serving spoon to the bowl of fruit salad sounded like the crack of a gun. Jamie's mouth twitched. Tommy's jaw teased. A shiver ran across her scalp and raised the hairs along her arms. Who was Kwest, and why did Jamie seem to draw so much pleasure at teasing Tommy with the name?

"Have a pleasant day," Tommy finally managed to say through gritted teeth.

"I'm planning on it." With a soft chuckle, Jamie left.

Jude slid her plate onto the table and sat down, but the food held no interest. Tommy swore at the empty coffee carafe and slammed his cup back on the sideboard.

"Sorry, I took the last cup. Who's Kwest?"

"No one you'd care to meet in a dark valley. What were you and Jamie discussing before i arrived?"

"The trust fund, if you must know."

"I forbid you to discuss business of any kind with him."

"Forbid?" Jude slowly brought her cup back to its saucer, unable to believe what she'd just heard. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not six years old. You can't forbid me anything."

Tommy leaned his fists on the table and glared across at her, his presence looming tall and menacing above her. "I can and I will. Remember, the Aidan Heart won't be yours unless I succeed."

"And the trust fund won't be yours unless I can pretend I'm Alana." She dismissed his bluster with a wave of her hand. She swallowed her own anger, realizing she was a ready recipient for his temper by virtue of her presence. He wasn't angry at her, but at his fear of losing the trust. "Anything else I should keep in mind, Your Majesty?"

He looked at her long and hard, then scraped a hand through his hair as he straightened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to patronize you. Alana wasn't interested in business, try not to be, either." He returned to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of juice. "What are you planning on doing with yourself today?"

"I was thinking I could get started on your glass collection's appraisal." Jude twisted the plate around, but didn't touch the food.

"It will have to wait until tomorrow--"

"That's what you said yesterday."

"I've got to go out this morning, and I don't know when I'll be back."

"Something to do with Kwest?"

Orange juice spilled over the sides of the glass as he returned it to the sideboard. "My business is none of yours."

"Oh, well, pardon me for asking." She sipped her coffee. "I hate sitting around doing nothing. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, you've done more than enough already."

With that, he departed, and Jude couldn't decide if she'd been handed a compliment or an insult.

"You're welcome," Jude said to the empty room and drained her coffee cup, feeling all the world as if she'd lost another round with typhoon Tommy.

--

**A/N- Thanks for the reviews!! I'm glad you all like the story. For those of you who still don't understand the "monk thing", this is the best way i can put it. There really are no real monks. Monks belong to a monastery...hence Tommy now own's and lives in the Monastery that once used to be owned by the religious monks. So really all the monk stuff and threats is more like a charade because of the Monastery. It fits the setting. Jude's dream is just an elusive mind running wild because being in the Monastery is creepy, so she's scaring herself. I hope that helps. :)**


	13. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Tommy paced the library's length, feeling like the tiger caged in the paperweight on his desk--a gift from his mother, the first of his collection. Weighed down by all his mistakes, he was as important to free himself from his tangled web as the trapped tiger was to jump clear of the glass.

Though he had no proof one way or the other. Alana was more than likely dead. Jamie had sicced Kwest on his tail. The trust looked farther out of reach than it ever had. Had all the lies been worth it? Or were they getting him further away from his objective? Now he'd been forced to add another lie to the web.

Kwest was a hound, when it came to a case. He could smell the blood and betrayal a mile away. The policeman turned private investigator was anything but harmless. He was known to latch on to things like a junkyard dog and not let go until he'd chewed the situation to bits. He'd refused to drop the case after Tommy had fired him. And he would see through this latest lie as if it were a freshly cleaned window.

Ten days left until Alana's birthday. Would it be long enough?

"Is everything all right, Tommy?"

Tommy looked up from his dark thoughts to find Speiderman standing at the door. "Yes."

Speiderman sat in the chair before Tommy's desk. "Jude hasn't been found out, has she?"

"No. But there's trouble." Speiderman understood the importance of the trust to Tommy's research, understood how close they were to finding, if not a cure, then at least a way to manage the ravaging disease that had killed his father and that lay dormant, for now, in his genes. Understood and shared his passion for truth.

"Does your uncle still work for customs?"

Speid nodded.

"See if you can find out when Jamie entered the country. And get ahold of Cameron.

Ten minutes later, Speid handed Tommy the phone.

"Cam?"

"It's been a while, big brother. What's up?"

"I need your help."

There was silence on the other end. It had been much too long--years--since he'd talked with Cameron or his sister, Juliana. Their last meeting hadn't been pleasant. _You've taken away the last of my hope_, Juliana had said, face pale and eyes brimming with tears. Cameron had laughed, but the sound had been harsh and spiteful. _Got caught on the losing end of a con after all_, he'd said, then stalked out, not bothering to finish his drink. Perhaps Tommy shouldn't have told them of his fundings' of their possible doomed futures. He couldn't blame Cameron for his reluctance to help him now.

"_You_ need _my_ help?" Cameron said, harsh incredulity ringing in his voice. "Since when?"

"Since I find myself in need of a con man."

--

A low grumbling sound distracted Jude from her brooding thoughts. From one of the dining-room windows, she saw a plow entering the courtyard to clear the few inches of snow that had fallen overnight. Stretching her arms above her, she worked the kinks out of her stiff shoulders. Fat, white clouds glided over the sun at regular intervals, patching the ground below in a hopscotch of light and shadows. Another day, another cold storm. She had to find something to do before she went crazy.

Seeking more coffee, Jude headed for the kitchen. She found Valentin, face reddened from exertion,thin hair askew, bustling about the room like a mad bird who'd flown into the house by mistake.

"Can I help with anything?" she asked, fearing the old man would die of a heart attack before her eyes.

"Non, madame." He dropped a copper saucepan on the floor and clucked disapprovingly at the dent on the side when he picked it up.

Spotting a fresh pot of coffee in the coffeemaker on the wooden counter-top, Jude headed for it and filled her cup. "I was wondering, how long have you know Tommy?"

"Since he was a boy, madame. You could say I came with the house." He poked at the dent, trying to pop it back out.

"What do you think of him?"

"He is a fair and generous employer."

"But how do you feel about him?"

He stopped poking and looked at her as if she were as appealing as a piece of rotting fish. "I am not in the position to express an opinion, madame."

"Come on, Valentin. Employee to employee, how do you feel about him?"

"Curiosity, madame, is something better left unexplored."

She should have known better than to attempt a conversation with Valentin. Her previous experience should have prepared her for his creepy turn of phrase. Maybe another tack would yield better results.

"Since you came with the house, so to speak, I was wondering, do you ever hear, um...voices coming from the walls?"

"Voices, madame?" He hung the pot on an overhead rack.

"Well, yes, sometimes I seem to hear something that sounds like a whisper, even if there's no one around."

He shrugged, and picked up a rag by the sink. "It is and old house. Anything is possible."

"You weren't serious about the ghosts, were you?" Her hands wrapped around the filled coffee cup, seeking its warmth.

The swipe of the rag in his hand slowed on the counter, but didn't stop. "As I said, it is an old house with a long history of death under its roof. Desperation led the monks to sacrifice, which led to legend. Anything is possible." Valentin's rag redoubled its effort. Jude decided to drop that line of questioning. The last thing she needed was gory details to feed her nightmares.

"Did Alana ever help out around the house?"

"Madame knew her place," he said, implying Jude did not. He folded the rag neatly and placed it on a holder inside the sink-cabinet door, then gave her a look of pity as if she were a lost child. "She did, however, take care of the fete preparations."

"Of course, she would."

"There are still a few things left to be done. If you like--"

"Yes, I like."

She pushed herself off the counter, relieved to have something to occupy her besides the dark twists of her active imagination, and followed Valentin down the hall to Alana's office. After opening the locked door and snapping on the light, he gave her the key, as he had in the bedroom.

Jude moved about the lamp-lit room, her feet sinking into the crimson carpet's deep plush. The elaborate gold-trimmed Louis XIV desk in the middle of the room dominated the space, and made a sharp contrast with the plain-framed distorted pieces of modern art hanging on the gold-splattered walls. On the desk stood a computer, a printer and an antique telephone. What kind of woman was Alana? How could she possibly find this garishly opulent decor beautiful?

"Why are all the doors locked?" Jude asked as she fingered the brass key in her hand.

"Energy conservation, madame."

"Yes, of course."

"Madame worked at the desk."

As opposed to the floor, Jude thought, smiling to herself. Valentin's opinion of her definately wasn't very high. What had he thought of the real Alana? Judging by his comments, if he hadn't liked her, he certainly had held her in higher esteem.

Valentin snapped the frothy cream curtains open, letting in light from the window. Jude sneezed at the shower of dust.

"I'm sure you will find all you need," he said.

"Thank you, Valentin."

His unmoving thin line of a mouth was not reassuring as he bowed slightly. "If you need anything, there is an intercom to the kitchen by the door." He duck-walked out, closing the door behind him.

Jude sat in Alana's chair and looked at her surroundings. The walls didn't dance before her. But she felt them. Watching her. Waiting.

"For what?" she asked them, but no replied whisper came back. She wished she knew what this "expectation" she felt was all about. If she did, she could get rid of the feeling of naked vulnerability which was her constant companion in this cold house.

Her call to check on Gram before she came down this morning hadn't brought any peace of mind. Gram's immune system wasn't rallying the way it should from her last bout with the flu. Overnight, they'd had to put her on a respirator. And thinking Gram so frail and helpless frightened her. How long before she was all alone?

Jude shook her head. She didn't want to think about depressing things. She looked through Alana's desk and found a to-do list with the items done crossed off. Alana's handwriting was bold and thick, like a woman who knew what she wanted and went after it. Had Tommy admired her barefaced confidence? Was that why he'd married her? What had gone wrong?

She beeped Valentin on the intercom.

"Oui, madame." His irritation at the disturbance filtered through the crackling speaker.

"Have the invitations gone out? I don't see a mention of them on Alana's list."

"Non, madame."

"Where are they?"

"Behind you in the white boxes, madame." Jude spotted them beneath a brass-footed mahogany worktable.

"Do you have a guest list?"

"In the folder in the second drawer of the desk, madame. The right side."

She found the file exactly where he'd said it would be. A smile crept over her lips. Valentin needed some loosening up, and she decided to tease him. "Can I add a few names of my own?"

Silence, long and static, followed her question. "As you wish, madame."

Jude leaned back in Alana's ornate chair and sighed wearily. Even teasing the old butler wasn't giving her any satisfaction. The house's gloom was starting to get to her.

--

**A/N- I'm so excited I'm getting more readers. Thanks to everyone, I love seeing my reviews, it keeps me going, and makes me want to keep going on with the story. All your reviews are great, thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Can I help you?" The voice, smooth and amused, startled Jude. With Jamie and Tommy both gone, and Valentin busy, she hadn't expected to meet anyone in the narrow bowels of the mansion's basement.

She swiveled on her heels to find a handsome young man filling the office door. His perfectly pressed looks and evident energy made him the ideal candidate for a yuppie poster. She recognized him as Vincent Speiderman, Tommy's assistant. The man who'd outbid her for the Aidan Heart. She wanted to hate him, but realized he'd only been following his boss's orders.

"No, yes. I mean, I came down looking for stamps. There were none upstairs. I saw light." Finding Speid's office empty, she'd been on the verge of snooping through the desk when the young man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties entered. "You must be Speid."

Speid stepped inside, took her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. "At your service." His warm eyes twinkled with mischief. "You are as beautiful as our missing mistress."

She removed her fingers from his hand, uncomfortable with his easy intimacy, yet glad to discover someone whose facial expression didn't blend with the grim gray wall for a change. But she wasn't ready to trust anyone, even somebody with a congenial smile and a pleasant disposition. "Stamps?"

Speid took the file he carried to one of the three huge file cabinets in the back of the room, then extricated a sheet of stamps from a nearby utilitarian armour. Handing them to her, he sat on the corner of the desk.

"How are you enjoying your stay in Ste-Croix?" he asked.

"It's not where I would have picked to go on a fun vacation." Jude folded the sheet of stamps in three and rolled it in her hand.

"It is a strange place." Speid drew out a plain chrome chair with a black vinyl cushion with his foot, inviting her to sit.

She settled herself into the chair and crossed her legs. Speid seemed eager to talk, and she was eager to listen. Maybe she'd learn a few of the monastery's secrets.

"Valentin says it's haunted by dead monks."

"The monastery lends itself so well to the battle of good and evil favored by simple village people. Long winter nights are perfect for ghost stories, no? Every little village has its own legend. Ste-Croix is no exception."

She thought she sensed anger behind his words, but perhaps she was wrong. He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, giving her a contradictory picture of ease. "I suppose. You don't seem to care for Ste-Croix too much."

"Oh, I do. I was born here. My family lives here. If it weren't for Tommy, I'd have to seek my fortune elsewhere."

"What do you do?"

Speid smiled brightly. "My official title is research assistant. In reality, I'm a jack of all trades."

"What's he like to work for?" Unconsciously, Jude leaned slightly forward.

"Depends on his mood." Speid waved his hands neutrally. "He can be an ogre sometimes, but I've learned a lot from him. I owe him this chance." A smile that could mean so much, or nothing at all, twisted his lips. He leaned toward her. "Some see him as a god, others as the devil himself, depending on which side of the curse you stand."

"The curse?" Was he, too, trying to scare her?

"The monk's curse."

"I don't understand."

"Haven't you noticed?" he said in a careful whisper. "There are no old men in Ste-Croix."

She and Tommy had only skirted the village during their sleigh ride, and she'd had no opportunity to visit since she'd arrived. "What about Valentin?"

"He's an exception."

"So?"

"There's a genetic weakness that kills them in their prime."

"Is that what Tommy is working on?"

Speid nodded. "But can a curse ever be reversed?"

The glue behind the stamps in her hand mixed with the growing dampness in her palm and stuck to her skin. The walls started their eerie pulsing. _Beware._

Jude decided to change the subject before her skin started to crawl, too. "Did you know Alana well?"

"Ah, Alana." Admiration glowed in Speid's eager face. "She was..."

"Was?"

"Is...quite a woman. Beautiful, witty, incorrigible. Maybe the only person Tommy can't control." He laughed heartily, as if reliving pleasant memories.

Speids' smile widened. "If Tommy hadn't told me about you, I might have mistaken you for her myself." His admiring gaze lingered on her breasts. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "But why would you want to take her place?"

"It's a long story." Jude sighed. "I'm beginning to think I made a terrible mistake."

"It'll be over soon enough. The fete is almost here."

"Why did she leave?"

He shrugged. "Tommy isn't an easy man to live with. She needed attention. He wasn't always available."

Distractedly, he picked up the dagger-like letter opener on the green blotter and slid his fingers up and down the dull blade. "There was an argument. No one is sure about what. She left slamming the door behind her, and never came back."

"Do you think she ever will?"

He eyed her curiously. "After staying here a few nights, would you?"

"I don't know." Her gaze drifted to the bare, gray stone walls. Cold and impersonal, like the rest of the house. But her feelings for the grim house would have nothing to do with her decision to stay or come back. "I'm not married to Tommy. I don't know him very well. If I'd made a commitment to him, then I suppose once I'd cooled down, I'd come back."

"Even if you were in the right?" His gaze narrowed as he studied her.

"Marriage isn't something you walk away from because of an one argument."

The distant ring of a telephone lamented eerily through the basement's crisscrossing corridors.

"One of many, I'm afraid. Alana has a fiery...temper."

Jude leaned forward again, bringing her head close to Speid. "Do you think she's still alive?" she whispered, not knowing why she did.

Suddenly, Speid straightened, dropped the letter opener onto the blotter and picked up a file.

"Speid, there's a call for you in the lab."

Swallowing her gasp of surprise at the sound of Tommy's icy voice, Jude straightened in her chair and looked at him. His eyes glowered coldly at her. What had she done this time?

"Thank you, Tommy." Speid winked encouragement at her and hurried out of the office.

Jude rose to leave. Tommy crossed the room to the desk. He picked up several file folders and examined their contents.

"I found your barrette," he said without looking up. "Valentin took it to your room."

"Thank you." She stopped at the door. Hand on the jamb, she hesitated, then turned around. "Is something wrong?"

Slowly he looked up. The contents of one of the files floated to the desk in a disjointed cascade. "Everything."

* * *

Tommy's sadness still echoed in her mind as Jude made her way back to Alana's office later that afternoon, making her feel helpless. She'd tried to question him. She'd tried to get past the hard mask he wore, but he wouldn't respond, and in the end had ordered her away.

He'd told her just last night she was making her own hell. He was right about that. She'd have been better off sticking with her dreams of finding the Aidan Heart than dealing with the nightmare she'd mired herself in when she'd found it. Giving Tommy softness and sadness wasn't going to do her cause any good. Getting emotionally tangled with his problems would only see her hurt. To him she was a means to an end. Nothing more.

The office door stood half open and, from within, Jude heard footsteps. She opened the door farther and saw Speid searching through the desk.

"Are you looking for something specific?"

"Ah,Jude." His smile beamed at her. "Yes, I was looking for the invitations. I thought I'd mail them for you on my way home."

"Thanks, but I haven't finished addressing the envelopes. Calligraphy isn't my forte. It's very nice of you to offer to mail them for me."

"It's nothing. I would do no less for the real mistress."

"Yes, of course. I'll get them to you tomorrow."

"Whenever you're ready."

With a friendly smile, Speid left. She hoped the lateness of the invitations' mailing wouldn't prevent a good turnout.

Jude sat at the desk and picked up Alana's to-do list. Everything for the fete was in order. The caterers, the band, the flowers, even the decorator had been booked for months, ready to magically transform the monastery into a castle fit for a medieval fantasy. All she had to do was give them a quick call to confirm the date. Jude closed the file and sighed. She was back to having nothing to do, except let her imagination go wild. Hell, indeed.

She slid the file into the hanging basket and found it caught and wouldn't go down all the way. She reached inside the jacket and her hand touched something hard.

She pulled up the slim object and discovered a computer disk. The label, in Alana's bold handwriting, read _Agenda_.

Fingering the hard plastic edges of the disk, she wondered if she should read it. They probably held the woman's private appointments...personal and confidential things meant for her eyes only. Yet, in a sense, she was that woman. She'd been asked to take her place, lend her skin, her spirit to a woman who'd disappeared.

She had every right to read the file and feel no guilt for it. And if it yielded proof of guilt for someone else, then it would be unethical not to read it.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Jude turned on the computer and fed the disk into the drive.

The blinking cursor asked for her password. Jude tried the obvious..._Alana, Tommy, Ste-Croix, monastery, monk._ She tried a dozen more, including the names of designers she'd found on Alana's clothes, before she drew a complete blank.

_Think. Put yourself in Alana's skin. What did she want more than anything else?_

_Money, escape, freedom_. None of those words worked. What did the woman feel? Trapped. No go. Tommy had said she didn't like it much here. He'd told her she was making her own hell. She typed in the word _hell_. The computer blinked and showed her the menu. It contained three files; journal, planner, will.

Jude opened the journal file. The first words she read were, "That husband of mine is going to be the death of me."

* * *

**A/N- I love that I have received so many more readers. Thank you to everyone for the reviews. :)**


	15. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"Did Kwest bite?" Tommy asked his brother later that afternoon.

"Like a hound on a skunk's trail. But if you ask me, what you're doing stinks just as much."

"That from a con man?" Cameron had sought to ease the pain of their parents' death by getting back at the slick swindler who'd cheated their father out of his savings in search of a miracle cure. Now he did the same for the underdog. Too bad it couldn't be on the right side of the law.

As usual, the comment slicked off Cameron's duck-smooth back. "You should have done it my way. He's not stupid, you know. He'll see through your trick."

"I know."

"What about the woman?"

Tommy's grip tightened on the receiver. His back teeth slid noisily against each other. "What about her?"

"Shouldn't she know you're rewriting her life?"

"I'll take care of her."

"She'll need to stop taking trips to the hospital in Nashua."

He took a deep breath. Jude would balk at that. Her grandmother seemed to mean the world to her. "I'll take care of her. Just set the trail, and hope Kwest stays on the scent. If you do your part properly, it'll buy me enough time."

There was silence on the other end, and Tommy could have sworn his brother was smiling.

"You've fallen for her!"

"It's not like that."

"If you say so." Cam chuckled. "But if you want my advice—

"Not on this subject." He swiped a hand through his hair. "Thank you, Cameron, for your help."

"No problem."

As Tommy placed the receiver back on it's cradle, he saw Jude standing at the library door. How much of his conversation with Cam had she overheard?"

"Jude—just who I wanted to see."

"About what?" She asked, instant suspicion visible in the growing tension of her body.

"Your grandmother."

"Something's happened?" Panic trembled through her voice.

"No, no." He rounded the desk, rushing to relieve her fear. This wasn't going as he'd planned. "We have a problem. If you keep visiting her, it'll attract Jamie's attention and put everything in jeopardy."

She turned away from him, fidgeting with the objects on his desk. She picked up the French tiger paperweight, caressed its curves, and scrutinized its surfaces. "I hope you didn't pay too much for this. It's been reground."

"I know, but I have a sentimental attachment to it."

She carefully placed the half globe on his desk and speared him pointedly with her gaze. "I have to go see her, Tommy. You promised—"

"Your brother—"

"Isn't dependable—"

"Jude…"

Before he had a chance to explain, Jamie's footsteps clipped loudly up the corridor.

"The traffic in the city was just beastly," Jamie said as he pushed his way into the library. He headed for the silent butler and poured himself a drink.

Tommy slipped an arm around Jude's waist and led her to the sitting area. He felt her shudder beneath his fingers, along with the unnerving zing of contact between them. But whatever attraction might exist was soiled by suspicion. Her spine was rigid against his bicep, her shoulders scrunched enough to leave a stiff space between them. As soon as she could, she sat in the chair next to Jamie's and broke their contact.

Tommy stood behind her and massaged the resistant muscles of her shoulders.

"How was your day, darling?" He asked her, putting reassurance in his hands and in his voice.

"Very revealing," she answered and looked up at him. Her smile carried with it a veiled threat. Good God, not her, too. It was bad enough Jamie's visit with Kwest had probably yielded him a sleeve-full of juicy tidbits with which to trip Jude.

"Really," said Jamie, "how so?" He leaned back in his seat and took a long sip from his drink. His mustache twitched. His eyes narrowed as he focused on her face.

"I realized I'd forgotten to mail the invitations to the fete. I can't imagine why I forgot. I'm usually such an organized person when it comes to things like that."

"It happens to the best of us," Jamie said.

"You've been so busy lately. How did you like that new composer, Serge Montreuil? I heard you went to his premiere last month."

Jude waved a hand as grandly as Alana had ever done. "His scores were ambitious and could stand some polishing, but he does have some potential in the future."

Tommy's fingers tightened unconsciously on Jude's shoulder. How had she known? Those were Alana's exact words to him the day after the premiere.

"How much money did you raise with your celebrity gala for the children's hospital last Labor Day?" Jamie asked.

"Unfortunately, not as much as expected." She placed a hand on one of Tommy's and looked up at him.

"Would you get me a drink, darling. I'll skip the gin and just have the tonic." She smiled at Jamie. "I've been trying to cut down. Maybe it'll help with the weight a bit."

Tommy forced his hands to release their hold on Jude's shoulder. Too spooky. It was as if Alana herself sat in that chair. Those thoughts were hers, too, not Jude's. He headed for the silent butler and splashed tonic water into a glass.

"I was quite disappointed at the turnout for the gala," Jude continued. "But then the mayor had his golf tournament the same weekend. I guess doctors prefer golfing to dancing!"

Tommy handed her the glass. He didn't like the gleam in her eyes. Too bright, too sharp, and sliced by anger.

"I trust the spill at the gala didn't cause permanent scar," Jamie said, glancing toward Tommy. Tommy wanted to loosen his tie. It felt like a noose around his neck. He headed to the bar to serve himself a drink instead, and regretted his decision when the liquor burned his throat and scorched his stomach.

"I think the dress bore the biggest brunt of the fall," Jude said. "It's ruined, but my knee feels much better." She lifted her right leg and moved the knee joint back and forth to prove her point. She'd chosen the correct one. How had she known? "It won't affect my enjoying the skiing season one bit, according to the doctors."

Watching her handle every one of Jamie's curveballs with ease was like watching Alana in action. Was he viewing a hallucination? Was Alana sitting before him, or Jude? He rubbed a fist over his eyes. Has he created a monster with his ambition?

He could almost hear Alana laughing at him from her grave.

Revenge, she'd sworn she'd have it.

She'd hated this place as much as he loved it. She's hated his decision to closet himself with his research as much as he reveled in the focus it afforded him. She'd hated his vision as much as it fired him.

Everything—his duty, his vision, his future—hung on the thin threads of fragile lies, and the complicated web he'd woven was falling around him, the strands ripping apart, the knots trapping him beneath.

Even dead, Alana would make sure she won.

Even dead, she would find a way to cut him to pieces.


End file.
